


Smell Of Lavender

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Erotica, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-06
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: How do you remember the final battle?Draco Malfoy struggles with his father's legacy, and his own actions.The Final battle viewed through memories and dreams, and sometimes the memories are worse than the dreams.Told mostly from Draco's point of view.





	1. Smell Of Lavender

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The Smell of Lavender. 

I wake up to the smell of Lavender; the scent of her lingers on my pillow,  much like it does on my body. 

The rain came while we slept dampening the sweltering heat just a trifle, but smothering us with humidity. 

The humidity persists day and night, and the storms, huge, towering masses of cloud and lightning, barely alleviate the discomfort. 

We came here to get away. 

Here, four poster beds with their smothering curtains, thick pajamas, and heavy nightgowns are nothing but foolish nonsense. Here, we sleep naked, the sweat pouring off our bodies, before even our thoughts turn to love. 

They will install the air conditioner tomorrow. 

I, Draco Malfoy, will let Muggles into my home, and I will smile, and pay them for it.

Lavender cannot take the heat, and it is my fault we are here. 

Little Lucius stirs, jerking me from my thoughts. I slip off the bed, and stand over his cot. His mouth pouts in a sucking motion. His discomfort ceases when I place the pacifier in his mouth. As I watch, he rolls over onto his side, legs slightly sprawled. Lavender lies just so. 

My father's namesake will be loved. I will break ten generations of hate and emptiness with this child, and the one forming in Lavender's womb. I will love them, and when my love, my stunted, shriveled love, is not enough, she will love them, enough for ten generations. 

He moves again, and I gently pat his backside until he calms. Would that Ronald could see me now. 

Weasley arrived at Hogwarts with hand-me-down clothes, hand-me-down wand, and even a hand-me-down rat. It took me six years to realize the incalculable wealth in his heart. 

Potter saw that straight away. The orphan child saw love when it was offered to him unconditionally and took it. I didn't offer him friendship. What I offered was, at best a partnership; at worst, servitude. 

Granger offered him love too, but she saved her heart for Weasley. 

Lavender offered me love and I spurned her.  Despite me, despite all I could do, she persisted in offering me love until it became too painful, until I saw my mother in her, until I ran away, until I joined the Dark Lord. 

Then I understood hate! 

My petty jealousies, my father's recycled prejudices were meaningless compared to the black hatred in the Dark Lord's heart. 

One day I realized. Overlooking a devastated landscape that was, the day before, a village. I felt an aching where my heart should have been. 

I didn't want this. 

I didn't want this for Lavender, for our children. I missed Lavender. 

The rain is warm against my skin; I imagine it sizzling against the Dark Mark on my arm, but only on my arm. 

She comes to me. I feel her pregnant stomach against my buttocks, her swollen breasts against my back, her arms around my chest. 

"Lucius?" I say 

"I have the charm." 

A listening charm, an idea stolen from the Muggles, to alert us if the child wakens. Hermione had sent it with Ronald's twittering little owl yesterday. 

"Why?" 

"Why what, love?" 

"Why did you dance with her?" 

I hold back a sigh.   


"Am I so ugly with this belly, that you need to find satisfaction elsewhere?" 

"Lavender, you're beautiful.  I don't need anyone else.  I don't want anyone else." 

Her tears on my shoulder are warmer than the rain. 

"Then why did you dance with Hermione?" 

"To save her, to save me, to escape the pack of blithering idiots who had invaded our conversation,  because she asked me to." 

"She asked you to. Does she want you?" 

A soft chuckle escapes my lips.  "Hardly." 

"But you're rich."  She hugs me closer.  "You're handsome." 

"I'm not Ron Weasley." 

"I never understood what she saw in him anyway." 

"I asked her. She said he made her feel safe" 

"Safe? But they were always fighting." 

"Who better to fight with?" 

The lightning descends on the horizon like a curtain, bolts illuminating the whole sky, reflecting on our wet skins. We don't hear thunder.  We won't tonight; the storm is well over the ocean. 

"I always thought she would end up with Harry." 

"With Potter? You believed that Skeeter woman's nonsense?" 

"You didn't?" 

"I fed it to her.  I was trying to drive them apart." 

"But they weren't together then?" 

"I meant the three of them. I was trying to stir dissension in the ranks." 

"You were evil then." She says grasping me just a little tighter. 

"No, not evil. Pretentious, spoilt, self involved, but I wasn't evil, I just liked to think I was. Looking back, I think mostly I was jealous." 

"Of Ron?" 

"Of Weasley, Potter, Granger, all of them." 

"Why do you do that?" 

"What?" 

"When you talk about school, you call them Granger, Weasley, Potter, but if you talk about today, or yesterday, you say Hermione, Ronald, Harry. It's as if they were different people." 

"It's not them, it's me. I'm the different person, but my memories of then, all my memories until I realized I loved you, they're like those of a different person. I know things were different to the way I saw them, but I can't remember them any differently." 

"Why their names like, like..." 

"Like they're objects, sub-human?" 

"Yes." 

"I wasn't a very nice person." 

"I still fell in love with you." 

We stand in silence, as the rain eases just a little. 

"Draco?" 

"Mmmm" 

"Do you still love me?" 

"Of course." 

"Don't patronize me Draco! I know you've seen her naked!" 

I sigh inwardly; tonight she will be obsessed with Hermione, no matter what I say. 

"Naked, bloody, bruised, near death! I was just happy it wasn't you lying there." 

"Was she beautiful?" 

"Ask Ronald." 

"I'm asking you!" 

"There was nothing beautiful on that day." 

The words come unbidden whispered, _"I am become Death,  shatterer of worl_ _ds."_    Had we become worse than what we defeated? 

No. 

We returned home to love, to rebuild; sometimes you need to destroy in order to create. Voldemort only created to destroy. 

Lavender shifts her body against mine, her mood changing, whimsy. 

"Do they still fight?" 

"Yes, I believe they do." 

"Why?" 

"I always thought it got their juices flowing, as it were." 

"You get my juices flowing." 

I turn around toward her. 

"I'm not a vase.  You won't hurt me, Draco" 

Her breasts, her belly glistening in the rain, in the moonlight. My own body responding to her nakedness, her scent. She leads me back inside the house, back into the bedroom, and I immerse myself in the smell of Lavender.


	2. Manhattan Interlude

Manhattan Interlude (Or Hell Hath No Fury).  
  
Many thanks to my Beta Scarlett.  
  
Manhattan: an island of rock upon which towers to the heavens are built. Legends say that the tower of Babel was intended to reach heaven, before God took affront, and split asunder the single tongue of man. In the ensuring confusion the children of Noah were scattered across the world.  
  
Since that time men have tried to unite the world under a common language, more often than not through force of arms. The Romans were so successful that their language is still present, although more written than spoken.  
  
The British Empire was the most successful; English has cut a swath across the world, a second tongue to more than it is a first. But English itself has become a shattered instrument.  
  
"Do you speak American?"  
  
"No I speak English", she had replied.  
  
She cursed requesting the introduction, the man was a boor, she idly wondered if that word still existed in the American language.  
  
He tried to impress her with his wealth, the breath of his investments, his astuteness for opportunity. She wondered why some men felt the need to flaunt their material wealth, as if it reflected their worth as a person. Money did not impress her; she had married a poor man for love, and never regretted it.  
  
He was no longer poor; not rich, perhaps, though he owned a small portion of his brothers' businesses. Even in the darkest times she had not doubted that he would provide as his father had done, what he could, enough, with love.  
  
She couldn't sense the magic in this man. Her witch senses so used to the burning copper brightness of magic that resided in her family. Less magic than even her parents. Her parents were muggles, their magic was of the most common muggle variety, love, but she knew hidden deeply within them was the almost undetectable echo that had birthed her.  
  
This man had nothing; he had been born a squib, and had allowed the bitterness to stifle his soul, so that all that remain was money and lust. He probably wouldn't even notice a Dementor's kiss.  
  
"What does 'Hermione' mean anyway?"  
  
"It means 'Eloquence.'" A voice so familiar, yet so strange; she had loathed that voice, yet tonight she welcomed it."  
  
He had presence; he had always had presence. There were few if any who could match it, Harry of course, and Ron, but only in anger, and he could make Ron so angry.  
  
"Ah does it now, and you are?"  
  
"You may call me Mr. Malfoy"  
  
"Well if you would excuse us, Mr. Malfoy, Hermione and I were having a private conversation."  
  
"It's nice to see you, Draco."  
  
He laughs, a wry chuckle. "How unusual to hear you say that."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I am trying to conduct a business discussion."  
  
"Really? I thought you were trying to peer down her dress."  
  
"Well I never! I've never been so insulted...."  
  
"Never? I do believe Draco's just warming up."  
  
"I don't think so, Hermione, hardly seems worth it if Ronald's not here."  
  
"Well Ron isn't really fond of dancing."  
  
"Perhaps then Hermione, I might steal you for a dance, for old time's sake."  
  
"Of course, Draco, you understand Mr. Donner, for old time's sake."  
  
Donner's words became the soundless gulping of a guppy as Draco guided her smoothly to the dance floor just as the orchestra struck up Strauss's timeless 'Blue Danube'. They danced in silence for a moment. He was different; male certainly, but different from Harry, with whom she danced more than her husband. She felt she could see the barest glimpse of what Lavender had seen in him.  
  
"You dance very well, Mrs. Weasley"  
  
"Why thank you, Mr. Malfoy, so do you."  
  
"Why were you sitting with such an unsavory character as Donner, anyway?"  
  
"It was a foolish mistake. He claimed he could broker an investment partner for me, for a product I've developed."  
  
"Why not launch it through WWW?"  
  
Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had in the past year launched some products which bore a distinctly feminine brand of mischief, and Draco had a firm suspicion that he was dancing with the witch responsible.  
  
  
"It's really not that sort of product. It's more of a product for parents, with small infants. It's actually a magical version of a muggle device"  
  
"A muggle device?"  
  
"Yes, it's called a baby monitor. Ron and I got one when Arty was born, but I got tired of replacing batteries, so I made a charm."  
  
"Ah, but you still haven't explained what it does?"  
  
"Oh it's very simple; it comes in two charms, one you place near the baby, in his room, or on his cot, the other the mother wears around her neck. If the baby cries, or makes a strange noise the mother can investigate it."  
  
"Only the mother?" He sounded disappointed  
  
"Oh no, Ron wears ours all the time. I have to fight him for it."  
  
"As a potential investor I'm interested, as a parent I'm even more interested."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Absolutely. Your brothers-in-law are accumulating wealth at such a rapid rate, that all the old money is desperately seeking opportunities. As a parent, this is precisely the sort of product I've been looking for."  
  
"I'll owl you a sample when I get home. No wait, I'm sending it to Lavender as a gift."  
  
"That's very kind. I'll instruct my solicitors to contact you next week."  
  
They dance together in silence for a while before Draco begins to chuckle.  
  
"What's so funny, Draco?"  
  
"My father would be turning in his grave right now, if he had one that is."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Well," he said, "Here I am, Draco Malfoy, dancing with a muggle born witch." He paused, "No offense Hermione."  
  
"None taken."  
  
"And," he continued, "with whom I have just conducted a business deal. To make matters worse..."  
  
"I'm a Weasley?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Hermione had never heard Draco laugh before, laugh with genuine merriment; it was infectious. She began to laugh too, at first a chuckle. Their conservative dance became more exaggerated, as they began to glide across the entire dance floor, trailing laughter behind.  
  
Suddenly Draco got a glint in his eye.  
  
"Do you dip Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
"Dip? Oh no, Draco, you can't! DRACO!"  
  
He dipped, and held her there, both of them still chuckling, and there was a bright flash!  
  
To his credit, despite being blinded, he didn't drop her; he recovered himself, and pulled them both upright.  
  
"Oh dear," said Draco, as they watched the photographer scuttle away.  
  
"Don't worry, I've got some good news that will ease Ron's temper."  
  
"Good news? Hmmmm, congratulations"  
  
"Thank you." She hadn't realized how intuitive Draco could be.  
  
Then he sighed, "It's not Ron I'm worried about, it's Lavender. You of all people should understand Hermione, `Hell hath no fury as a pregnant woman scorned!'"  
  
Fin.  
  
Explanatory notes:  
  
1\. "Manhattan Interlude" is the title of a story which appeared in DC comics "House Of Mystery" Series in the early 80's. The story was an "I...Vampire." tale which bears absolutely no resemblance to this story. It's a cool title though.  
  
2\. Married couples can and do flirt like this, (usually in front of their respective spouses). It's safe fluffy fun.


	3. Faith in Other Hands.

**Faith In Other Hands**  
by alloy

He won't eat. Lavender is panicking, repeatedly taking Lucius's temperature with the muggle thermometer that Seamus sent her.

"It's normal." She says. "It can't be! He's sick. He won't eat."

She puts it to his ear again, waiting for the cursed thing to beep.

I lie on our bed, and place Lucius on my lap, his back against my raised knees. I hold his little head, and try to force the teat of the bottle into his mouth. He squirms, turns his head away from me. When I finally get the teat into his mouth, he refuses to suck and I milk the teat with my fingers trying to get the formula down his throat. The triumph I feel is quickly muted as I take the bottle away and study the measurement tags. He has drunk so little.

"We have to take him to St. Mungo's!" She says to me. "NOW!"

"St. Mungo's is half a world away." I say rationally, trying to suppress my rising panic.

"You brought us, there's nothing here. He could die, Draco!"

He could have died had we stayed; I would have had to maintain a constant vigilance, a constant fear for my wife, my children. Here, we can breathe.

There must be muggle hospitals. There's no magic in his ailment, that much I can tell. It's the only course of action I can think of.

*

It's two o'clock in the morning.

"Mr. Malfoy. Your son is very sick."

He's a young man, my age. There is fatigue in his eyes, but it has not effected his thoroughness. "I going to test for everything," he had said. "I'm sorry for the expense. But I need data to work with."

I sent Lavender from the room when they took the blood. It is not good for her be distressed in her condition. We have more than one child to consider. She heard the screaming anyway. I had to hold him down, as they bled him. Exercising the iron self control my father beat into me.

"I'm referring you to a specialist. He's the only man in the province."

He places a hand on my shoulder. I force myself not to flinch at his touch. He means only kindness.

"I might be wrong." He says. "But Dr. Pillay is the best person to confirm or refute my diagnosis. I'd rather not toy with your son's life. I've spoken to him, he's going to meet you at Northgate Pediatric Centre."

"We could transfer him by ambulance, but it would be quicker if you drove him yourself."

*

"I'm not happy with the initial test results." Dr. Pillay is a thin Asian man of quiet demeanor.

"I think there's been some contamination. Sometimes the lab technicians take short cuts with smaller children. I need to take more blood." He pauses, taking in the look on my face. "Perhaps you and your wife should wait outside."

The screaming seems to last forever, but the clock turns barely a quarter of the dial.

Dr. Pillay emerges from the procedure room cradling Lucius. I notice immediately something has been stuck onto his arm with a clear film. It's made of white muggle plastic and, sticking into his arm A NEEDLE!

"What is that?" I ask trying to remain calm.

"It's a shunt." He says. "You son is very badly dehydrated, and is probably going to be on a drip for a few days. We'll put the drip through the shunt, and any medication he needs at well."

I don't understand a word of it. I merely nod taking assurance from his calm confidence. Lavender hides her confusion less well. "Does it hurt?"

"It's tender right now, but by morning it will just be uncomfortable, as long as it doesn't get dislodged."

Dr. Pillay leads us into a room with "ICU" emblazoned on the door. He places Lucius in a cot, and begins attaching strings to his arms, legs, and chest.

"Until I get the blood work, he's going to be on a heart monitor." He indicates a muggle device, which is beeping like the infernal thermometer. He taps the device, indicating some numbers, which keep on changing. "He's a bit upset now, try and feed him now, and maybe he'll calm down."

I allow him to lead me into the corridor. "Dr. Richmond diagnosed adrenal gland failure, based on your son's blood salt levels, which are very unusual. We also discovered a kidney infection, which could have caused those abnormal blood salt levels."

I force myself to think to make sense of what he's told me. "The kidney infection could be the cause of everything?"

"Yes, but we can't know that for certain until we've cleared up the infection. Luckily the treatment remains the same irrespective of the cause."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small electronic muggle device. "I need some family history."

I know so little of Lavender's parents. I avenged them, I scattered my father's atoms to the winds, even as he finished saying the killing curse on her mother, a day I have told Lavender nothing about.

The Brown's loyal house-elf crucified above the front door, two dead Death Eaters felled by her protective magic. Lavender's mother, her body twisted by Cruciatus, vomit soiling the dress of the muggle born orphan child she was trying to protect.

Dumbledore was forced to Obliviate her late born siblings, to protect them from the horrors they were forced to watch and me from their knowledge of my existence.

"We're cousins," I say. "From a very closed community." The doctor nods.

"The chances of such disorders increase under those circumstances." He tells me frankly.

That's why I have no siblings, at least none that were allowed to live.

"Draco."

Her voice shakes, she's near panic.

"Draco, I'm bleeding."

Dr. Pillay takes immediate action; he gets her onto a bed and performs a preliminary examination.

"Dr. DeFreites is on call tonight. I going to send you for an ultrasound, he should be able to get here by then."

Lavender stares at him blankly, and turns toward me.

I smile reassuringly. "He knows what's best, love."

"Peter DeFreites is a fine obstetrician." The nurse advises me; I just wish I knew what she meant.

*

At eight o'clock in the morning my admiration for these muggle doctors has grown tremendously. They have managed to save the babies. Babies, the device they call an ultrasound tells them that there are two children in Lavender's womb. Lucius is stable, Dr. Pillay has taken the heart monitor off, and he has eaten well.

I have yet to sleep. I sink into a comfortable chair, and allow my eyelids to droop.

My phone rings.

"Hello, Draco?"

It's her, they were due to arrive this morning.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I forgot completely." I cannot hide the fatigue in my voice.

"Draco what's wrong?"

"We're at the hospital...."

She cuts me off. "Don't explain, where's the hospital?"

"It's a muggle hospital, Northgate."

"Northgate, got it, what ward?"

I glance up at the sign. "Pediatric."

"We'll see you soon." She hangs up abruptly.

 

*

I'm feeding Lucius when they arrive. Ronald smirks at my domestication, until Hermione reminds him that his son's nappy needs changing and he stalks off with Arthur under one arm and a nappy bag over the other.

"He's eating alright." She says, glancing at Lucius, the sight of the drip and shunt not perturbing her in the least.

"He wasn't last night, nor the day before. The doctors think it's a genetic disorder." I shrug. "Too much inbreeding."

"How's Lavender taking it?"

I didn't realize how much I needed someone to talk to. "We almost lost the babies." I blurt out.

"Oh, Draco, no, what happened?"

"The doctor says its stress, she... she started bleeding last night. She's in a ward upstairs. I'd be there but I can't leave Lucius."

"I'll watch Lucius." I hadn't noticed Ronald returning.

"Thank you, Ronald." He nods at me and glances around the hospital cot.

"Where is everything? Nappies and such?"

"The nurses have been changing him."

He looks at me, covers his son's ears and directs a glare at Hermione. "Lucky bludger."

"Ronald!"

"I said 'Bludger.'"

"Never mind." She says. "I'm going with Draco to see Lavender."

He nods. "Alright." And I turn to lead Hermione from the ward.

"Oh Draco." We turn back toward him. "No dancing."

Hermione's "Tut tut" hides a wry smile, and I allow myself a little chuckle.

I hold my hands up in mock submission. "Lavender would kill me."

"He does that you know." She says. "To make you feel better. Just as things seem darkest, Ron will crack a joke."

"It worked. I do feel a little better. You know what is funny, though?"

"What?"

"Ronald Weasley, one of the most powerful wizards of our age, Order of Merlin first class, changing his son's nappies."

She smiles, "Covering Arty's ears and saying Bludger."

"Yes." I chuckle.

She puts a light hand on my arm, stopping us in the middle of the corridor. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Certainly."

"Don't call him 'Ronald.' It annoys him immensely."

"You call him 'Ronald.'"

"I'm his wife, I can call him lots of things, but you're not. You're not his mother, either."

"Oh." I say with sudden understanding. A small smirk tugs at my lips. She notices.

"What are you thinking Draco?"

"Second year. The howler." The whole school had heard Molly Weasley berate her youngest son.

"So you understand, then?" We continue walking.

"Yes. I didn't mean to offend."

"Oh you haven't offended him, he can hardly take offense to being called by his given name, especially after some of the things you've called us."

"I just thought 'Ron' was a little intimate. Given our history."

She pauses again. "You saved our lives Draco."

That much is true, but it can't be a pleasant memory, for her especially.

"I'm sorry." I say.

She shifts uncomfortably. "I forgave you on the day, Draco."

We stop again at the door to Lavender's Ward. "You earned your Order of Merlin Draco, just like the rest of us." She enters, and I allow them privacy for a moment. Resting myself against the wall, I allow my eyes to close.

*

"Draco."

"Draco."

"DRACO!"

I awake with a start; I'd literally been asleep on my feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, you were asleep, you must be exhausted."

"Lavender?"

"She's asleep, they gave her some medication which made her drowsy."

"I wish we were at St. Mungo's."

"The muggle doctors here are amongst the best in the world." She pats her stomach. "I made sure before we left."

"I just feel so helpless. I don't understand any of this. I can't ask questions without looking like an idiot. You, at least, were born into this world."

"The muggle doctors aren't fools Draco, in many cases they know more than St. Mungo's healers."

"I know." I say. "It's just difficult for me. I need to have faith, Faith in other hands."


	4. Chamber Of Secrets

Smell of Lavender Chapter 4: Chamber of Secrets.

by alloy 

 

The Daily Prophet headline:

"Malfoy Mansion Flattened!"

Underneath in less bold print: "Six Death Eaters Petrified and Suspended above the Ministry of Magic."

The Quibbler was more dramatic:

"Phoenix Feather Defies Dark Mark!"

It’s still there, visible, even on this bright day. I push my dark glasses back on my face.

"Is this the first time you’ve returned?" Harry asks as we walk through the circle of Aurors guarding the ruins.

"Since my mother’s death. Yes."

"Ron didn’t kill her. He said he never saw her."

"He didn’t."

"He was officially cleared. Moody interrogated him under Veritaserum." He persists, fearful of any suspicions I might harbour.

"Her body’s in the chamber."

He jars to a halt. "What!"

"The building was still whole when I put her there."

"Draco you didn’t…"

"My father killed her." I spit out. "He came home, he made love to her, and then he killed her. His master’s fucking orders!"

I force myself to hold back the tears, grateful of the sunglasses. "His orders were to murder my mother, and proceed to the Brown house."

"He was at the Brown massacre?"

"He practically was the Brown Massacre until I killed him."

"They never found his body."

"I didn’t leave any to find."

We stare at each other. We used to do this all the time as children, forever trying to bow the one another into submission. This is different, this time neither of us is seeking domination, what we are seeking is far more elusive. We are seeking understanding.

Eventually he asks. "How much of this do you want me to report?"

"I wouldn’t bother. I was fully debriefed at the end of it all." I shudder involuntarily. "By Moody, with bloody Veritaserum."

"Surely then the detail of your mother’s death is on file."

"Veritaserum is only as good as the questions asked. Moody was more interested in capturing Death Eaters, than finding my missing mother."

"It wasn’t his job to find your mother."

Our conversation seems to reach an impasse, and we continue in silence until we reach the ruins.

"I expected more rubble."

"We had a crew in earlier to clear it away, I told them just to clear the drawing room, but they insisted on doing the entire slab."

How in Merlin’s name did he know where the chamber was?

"Ways and means Draco." He says at my look of astonishment.

He pauses. "Draco, your mothers body, perhaps I should arrange someone from St. Mungo’s to collect it before we enter the chamber."

I understand his concern, in his job he uncovers a lot of very unpleasant secrets. "I petrified her body to preserve it."

"Still would you prefer if I had it removed before you enter?"

"I…" Words fail me. I feel his hand on my shoulder. It is possibly only the second time we’ve ever touched, not in hatred or anger.

"We could do this later."

"I not sure how I feel about her." He says nothing allowing me to continue. "Father always said she was weak, but now I realize…"

"She was strong."

"She had to be." I shrug. "I never met her."

"I understand."

"How could you?" I whisper.

"I never knew my mother either." He says. "I love her, but in an abstract way. Then I feel guilty because I love Molly Weasley like I should love her."

"I feel like I’m two people." I say. "That the boy who hated her weakness and the man who recognized her strength are two completely different individuals."

He smiles, it’s the open honest smile he normally reserves for his family, instead of the ironic grimace he presents to the press. His smile washes over me, leaving me with a far better understanding of why Ronald & Hermione have stood by him all these years.

"I prefer Draco the man."

Still I need to clarify what happened that night. "I didn’t know they were holding Hermione. The

Dark Lord didn’t even know. That was my father’s agenda. My objective was to save my mother and the Browns."

I turn away from him. "I failed miserably at that."

"You saved the little ones."

"How do you know that?"

"Your father wouldn’t have left them alive."

I gesture toward the ruins. "How much of this did Ronald do?"

"He didn’t leave a wall standing. Then he left that as a sign." He points upward, we are directly underneath it now.

"The dark mark used to fade in a few days." I say. " This has been here…"

"Five Years. Even muggles can see it."

Harry kicks a piece of loose rubble. "Hermione showed me, in a pensieve, what he looked like to her when he rescued her." He waves his hand in the air. "When he did this."

"Maybe it’s because she loves him, maybe she was because he was rescuing her, but when he opened the room where they were holding her…It’s difficult to explain, he looked like a god, like Zeus come down from Olympus."

He shudders. "He scared me. My best friend scared me."

"He scared the Dark Lord too."

"Did he?"

"Changed the dynamic of the conflict. Death Eaters didn’t mind destroying muggle homes, but they were a little sensitive about their own." He looks uncomfortable. It is after all the ruins of my house we’re standing in.

"Have you decided?" he asks.

"Yes." I reply brightly. "I’m going to fix up the place. Do you think ‘Reparo’ will work?"

I catch him off guard, and he laughs before he realises it.

*

Only a Malfoy can open our secret chamber, it’s something built into the makeup of what makes us Malfoy. It’s also an excellent foil against cuckolding. I’ve never seen the whole thing, how far it extends underneath the mansion, or even the grounds. As soon as I had learnt to talk I was taught to open it, and never to enter, ever, unless I could get away with it.

"Tell them to be careful." I say.

Harry summons a trio of casually dressed men. Chats briefly to them, they’re not Aurors.

"Cursebreakers." He says answering my unspoken question. "Seconded from Gringotts."

Two of them take orders from the third, a stocky red headed man.

"Is that?"

"Bill Weasley. Yes."

"I heard he was a director now."

Harry chuckles. "There were no shortage of volunteers. Bill had to pull rank."

We wait an hour, I offer Harry a cigarette, but he declines. I take one and put it between my lips, not bothering to light it. After fifteen minutes he waves his hand over it, and changes it into candy.

"Great now my teeth will rot."

"What? Can’t afford gold fillings?"

We’re just killing time, hoping there’s nothing down there that will hurt his brother-in-law, or the other Cursebreakers for that matter.

I ask him for the charm, and he watches as I change five gallon pack of hand crafted cigarettes into a Knut’s worth of candy.

"I think I will have one now." He says.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Bill Weasley has emerged from the chamber. There’s a look of fatigue in his eyes and a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Please call me Draco, Mr. Weasley." I offer him a sweet.

"Call me Bill." He takes the sweet, cockily holds it like the cigarette it used to be, and nibbles the end.

"Thanks. Merlin I’m getting too old for this."

"Sorted?" Harry asks.

"Mostly. There’re a few chambers where Draco will probably have to let us in. We don’t have time to crack them today. Some nasty stuff, old, and some Gringotts seals." He frowns as he mentions the seals.

"I thought the bank didn’t allow that."

"They don’t Harry. It’s totally contrary to policy. They’re senior seals too, only a director can open them."

He frowns. "I need to talk to the chairman. Simmons and Fitzpatrick are at your disposal until you release them Harry." Turning to me. "Draco, there are a lot of valuables down there, including a substantial amount of cash. Can I arrange for my staff to transfer them to your Gringotts vault?"

"No. Have everything transferred to the Welfare vault. I’ll personally mark any items that I want taken to the Malfoy Vault."

*

William has marked the doors that I need to open, the enchantment is exactly the same as that which opens the chamber itself. Either my forebears lacked imagination, or they had a very poor opinion of their heirs. I’m inclined to think the latter.

Once I have opened all the doors we allow the Cursebreakers to verify that they’re safe. Harry starts to map out the chamber, and I wander aimlessly in and out of various rooms. The chamber is actually bigger than the mansion was itself. There are items of immense wealth here, but the fact that they are here, and not in our vault in Gringotts tells me enough. I want none of it. There are honourable holdings my mother brought into her marriage. My father neglected them of course, wrapped up as he was in his obsessions. I am divorcing myself of the taint of everything Malfoy, except the name, the name I can fix.

It appears to be a laboratory. A variety of creatures are jarred or petrified, it’s almost like an exhibition, my curiosity is aroused. Did one of my ancestors have an interest in biology? There’s a book, a journal. It appears very old. No, not a journal, a breeding register, I idly flip to the last entries.

Entry 1074 – Draco, out of Narcissa (Black), by Lucius (1065)

Entry 1075 – Wyvern, out of Narcissa (Black), by Lucius (1065) Twin to Draco (1074) deformed. Put down.

My stomach begins to churn. I glance at one of the jars closest to me; I recognize it now for what it is. There’s a number etched onto the glass.

793.

I hastily find the entry.

Entry 793 – (unnamed), out of Sirena (Prince), by Bonevan. Miscarried at two months.

The entry underneath catches my eye; it’s been crossed out.

Entry 794 – Richard, out of Marion (Weasley), by Bonevan

The word ‘Blood traitors’ had been scrawled at the end of the line.

I begin to taste the bile as I walk through the room. Each and every jar contains a human fetus, some of them, most of them deformed, but some of them; some of them are perfect. Another entry, a perfect fetus, almost a term child. The words slap me in the face. ‘Paternity uncertain. – Terminated’

I begin to move faster, I need to see, before my body betrays me.

1075.

Wyvern.

He’s perfect, he looks like he’s asleep, only resting, he’s been petrified. My infant face, I can’t see a deformity. His head is perfect, his chest, his arms, his hands, all perfect. Perhaps his eyes are deformed, the lids are closed. No his foot, his left foot, a clubfoot.

Harry finds me puking into what’s left of my mother’s rose garden. Bacon, sausage and candy cigarettes. I continue retching even though my stomach is empty.

"Are you alright?" Harry picks the register up from where it lies discarded next to me.

"The last entry." I mutter before more acid bile passes through my lips.

"Was he badly deformed?" he asks handing me a hanky.

"No! Fuck it! He wasn’t! A bloody clubfoot, Harry. Even the Muggles can fix that. They didn’t know what magic he had, or if he was clever. He wasn’t perfect so he gets put down!"

"It could have been you."

It’s the thought I hadn’t dared speak. "It shouldn’t have been either of us."

The silence hangs tangible between us finally Harry gestures with the register. "This could be valuable. It could solve a lot of mysteries. Reveal many secrets."

"The Ministry can have what it wants, take what it wants. Except…"

"Yes."

"My brother will be buried with my mother."

"I’ll see that it’s done."

"Mr. Potter!" A young Auror, already sporting a magical eye. I recognize him from school.

"Yes Dennis."

"We’ve found some bodies sir. A lot actually, a whole room full of petrified people."

"And…?"

"Well the Cursebreaker Fitzpatrick reckons they’re not dead."

"Get some people from St. Mungo’s over straight away."

The Auror doesn’t move.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Harry, I think…"

"What is it Dennis?"

"One of them is Percy Weasley."

To be continued.

Author's notes  
This chapter was partially inspired by an episode of Pretender (specifically the jars etc.)  
The Auror Dennis is indeed Dennis Creevy.  
I privately regard this chapter as my "Ron kicked major ass at some point" chapter.  
Does anybody want to know what happened to Seamus (and Lavender)?  
Thanks as usual to my beta.  
Does anybody read these notes?


	5. Just Beautiful

Just Beautiful.

by alloy

He’s gone when I wake up. The bed is cold; I try to stifle the feeling of abandonment, and frustration. I shouldn’t feel this way; it’s just another day. I swat his pillow in a sudden spurt of misdirected anger, and my hand hits something solid. I feel my ring reverberating against it.

Guilt washes over me as I lift myself onto an elbow, to see what he’s left me. I don’t really deserve him.

A chisel. It’s the one I’ve been promising myself, every time we go to the art supply store, and every time we just can’t afford it. He’s left a note. As I read it I hear his Irish brogue.

"A little dicky bird told me you might be needing this."

I smile to myself. Which little dicky bird? I swear Seamus knows a hundred in the Ministry. And he charms each and every one of them, makes them feel special. They know about me of course. I think that’s what they love about him. He’s devilishly naughty, and at the same time completely safe.

It’s a commission I so desperately want. They’re planning it as a surprise for the Minister. It’s not something he’d commission himself of course. Harry, Ron and Hermione, standing defiantly against ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’. Seamus suggested I include Draco Malfoy and Snape in my proposals, he says it’s important that people know the variety of people who defied ‘Him’.

A commission from the ministry would establish me as a serious artist, and alleviate some of the financial burden from poor Seamus. He says he likes to work, but I know we really need his overtime.

I need to get Becky ready for school. She came to us just after the war. We volunteered to look after the lost ones, the muggleborns whose parents were murdered. She’s five now, and attends ministry sponsored junior school. We know we’ll never have children of our own, even with magic, so we’re trying to adopt her.

Seamus has left another note in the kitchen. ‘Hannah’

Hannah Longbottom is in charge of adoptions. I know she doesn’t approve of Seamus and I, but we’ve shown our commitment to Becky so many times, and she’s bonded with us. I’m tried very hard to show that it would be in her best interests. Seamus had lunch with Neville the other day and he also promised to put in a word, even though we know Hannah wears the trousers in their house. My appointment with her is at nine.

Penny gives me a cup of coffee, and a plate of encouragement. She’s in charge of the nursery school that Becky was attending until recently, and we’re both so proud that she was allowed to attend junior school a year early. Penny’s had it rough too since Percy disappeared. They were engaged to be married and she hadn’t realized she was pregnant. All credit to the Weasleys, all of them have supported her through and through, she’s never wanted for anything, except someone to hold onto at night. I think her son Peter has a small crush on our Becky. The little boy reminds me so much of his Uncle Ron.

Hannah’s in a good mood when I get to her office, and I wonder if Neville’s had anything to do with it. Neville was never a Casanova, Hannah was only his second girlfriend, but Luna will still tell anybody she meets that Neville was the best she ever had. Hannah’s always acted embarrassed, but she’s never once complained.

She doesn’t dislike me personally; it’s just my relationship with Seamus that she frowns upon. I think we caught her by surprise, I don’t think she expected Seamus to go for someone like me. Neville of course knew all along. He knew enough about Lavender and Draco, to insist that Draco sleep in the Gryffindor common room, rather than risk his life in the dungeons after he returned. I often wonder just how many secrets Neville knows, how many confidences he holds.

Hannah huffs and she puffs, but in the end I know she’s pleased to give Becky a family.

A memo flies onto Hannah’s desk while she’s going through the forms both Seamus and I have to sign, curiously it doesn’t go into her In-tray, but falls onto the desk between us.

"It’s for you." She says.

My mouth is dry, and the sweat on my palms makes them feel greasy. It’s my future in that envelope. Our future, our family.

"Open it." She smiles. "You’ve got it of course. After the Wedding Portrait, how could they not give it to you? Arthur loves your work."

"That was personal…"

"It’s your best work." She says. "To date."

The envelope is thick, and contains a number of photos. The photos are all useless of course, they’re all stiffly posed official pictures, where no one is comfortable, and at a time when all of them were trying to forget. The photos alone tell me the commission’s mine, but I glance at the official letter anyway, trying not to snort in indignation as they suggest I use their photo’s to get a ‘feel’ for my subjects.

"Does everyone in the Ministry already know?"

"Just about." She leans forward whispering. "Rumour has it Arthur hauled Doherty over the coals for not giving you the commission in the first place."

"I thought this was supposed to be a surprise for him."

"No secrets in this place. Especially since the twins released cordless extendable ears. He says to congratulate you by the way, you and Seamus. He’s also entitled you to the children’s grant retroactively. The funds will be transferred into Seamus’ vault on Friday."

"Thanks Hannah."

"It’s for Rebecca, it doesn’t mean for a moment that I endorse what you and Seamus are doing."

It’s at that moment that a junior clerk sticks his head through the door. "Have you heard? They found Percy Weasley."

My thoughts go out to poor Penny; I leave an astonished Hannah, and make my way back to the Nursery School. Penny’s not there, and her assistant’s near panic.

"The Minister came personally for her."

I calm the poor girl and before I know it, it’s time to take Becky home.

My thoughts are still buzzing about Penny and Percy being found, as I prepare a special dinner. We’ve a lot to celebrate tonight, and I want to concentrate on us, on Seamus, and Rebecca, and the new family that we formed today.

*

He catches me in the kitchen, wraps his arms around me and growls tickling my cheek with his silly moustache. He leaves me to pick Becky up and hold her face to his.

"Still at eye level." He says. "Goodness girl don’t you grow?"

"There’s papers on the table. If you sign them, she might tell you her name."

"Will she now, a wee lass like her. She doesn’t even know her name."

"I will when you sign the papers Daddy." The smile on his face is worth all the priming and cajoling of this afternoon.

He sits down at the table, and signs the forms with a flourish. As he finishes I put my arms around his neck, smelling him, smelling those wretched Leprechaun cigarettes, that he tells me he’s given up, underneath that the plain lemon soap he’s used all the time I’ve known him. He takes my hand, entwining his stubby pale fingers though my own ebony digits.

"What’s you new name?" he asks.

"Rebecca Joan Finnigan-Thomas." She replies.

There are tears in his eyes as he looks at me.

"That’s beautiful Dean."

"Just beautiful."

To be continued.

Next: Making Love.

Author's note:

Whatever happened to Seamus Finnigan? Had to remove him from Lavender’s life in such a way that he still wants to send her presents. (Actually Dean probably sent the present.).

This was bloody difficult to write, with the ending in mind. To give the reader just enough that they don’t feel cheated at the end, also to progress some of the other sub plots, and feed more tidbits of information about the past. Please tell me if it was any good.

If you don’t like slash – sorry.

Beta’s Note:

This is where my Beautiful Beta puts her enthralling remarks.

Which are: and if you don't like it, you can bugger off and read something else. The author doesn't want to hear it, and I certainly don't want to hear it. So just hit "back" if you're offended. Although if you are, you might want to check yourself for an acute case of prudity, because, seriously, it's not like they even have sex. For all you know, they're roommates who chose to adopt a kid because they know they'll be friends forever, and what better basis for a stable, loving family environment than two best friends? So get over yourself, and move on. Because we really do not care.


	6. Making Love

Smell of Lavender Chapter 6: Making Love.

By alloy

_"What are you doing Draco?"_

His voice is calm and reasonable; it is at moments such as these that he is most dangerous.

"A lesson my Lord." I grasp through Granger’s robes, finding her breast I pinch it, twisting it cruelly. She gasps, her body writhes but she doesn’t allow a sound to escape her lips. "In manners."

"For a mudblood, Draco?"

I twist again. It must hurt! It must be seen to hurt! This time she makes sound.

I allow myself a smile. "We should be generous to those beneath our station."

I can feel Weasley, every time I cause her pain, every twist, every pull, every time I feel her torso jerk beneath my hand, I feel his anger, his magic surging, violence coiling. My master cannot sense it; he is as blind to Weasley as I am conscious of him.

He focuses on Potter instead. "Do you feel helpless, Harry? This is the end of it, you know. The bonds holding you are unbreakable. Even Draco..." He casts his eyes over me again, and I punish her again for good measure. "Couldn’t free you if he wanted to." I meet his gaze defying him to fathom my purpose.

"I have promised you to the Dementors. I think they will find you most… appetising. Especially after Draco has finished educating the Mudblood."

He turns away, but I know he’s not finished. "Leave the Dementors something Draco." And he is gone.

I bring my wand out, he is fickle I may not have much time.

The surge of magic overwhelms me, unbreakable bonds, first Weasley, then Potter, are shattered in the wake of their rage. Weasley moves faster than any man has right to, I feel his big hands, his long fingers around my neck, squeezing, burning, burning, and then…

I wake up.

The thin summer sheet is drenched with my sweat; I still feel his fingers around my throat. I reach for the water next to my bed, sipping it; it feels like fire rolling down my gullet. The glass slips from my sleep numbed fingers, spilling, waking Lavender.

"Draco?"

"Go back to sleep. I just dropped some water." My voice is throaty, hoarse.

"Draco, your throat, the burns…" I smother her prying hands.

"It was just a dream."

"A dream or a memory?"

"A dream. The memory is worse."

"Where did the burns come from?" I allow her touch me. "They’re fading now."

"They’ll always be there, like Harry’s scar."

"How?"

"Ronald’s hands, his anger, his magic. I hurt Hermione you see. To save us."

Lavender’s silence is damning. I compose my thoughts.

"Hermione could never mislead the Dark Lord, she’s too honest. I had to make her pain real. I had to make my enjoyment of her pain real."

"You enjoyed her pain."

"I had to."

"You said you freed them."

"I did, I built Ronald and Harry’s rage to such point that they broke bonds Voldemort himself thought unbreakable."

"And Hermione?"

"She did the unthinkable. She broke the bonds from compassion."

"Compassion?"

"No one else could have saved me from Ronald’s rage."

"You don’t dream that do you? Her saving you."

"No, that’s my punishment. I’ll forever feel his hands around my neck."

My wife draws me to her, placing my head against her naked breasts. "Are you afraid of him?"

"Even Harry’s afraid of what he can do."

"I watched him today, while you were gone, I watched her watch him. He was like a little boy."

"What was he doing?"

"He was trying to take off the pool net with magic." She giggles. "It took him ages, he walked around, and around the pool thinking, and she had this little smile on her face. I recognised the smile from school. It was like she was hiding something very secret. I understand now, the secret was Ron." She sighs. "I’m sorry I was jealous, Draco."

"Did he do it? The pool net I mean."

"Oh yes. It took him ages, and then he did it. A simple one-word spell and he looked up at Hermione, and she was beaming at him like he’d saved the world again. It was such a little spell, and they both took so much pleasure from it."

Her breast is soft against my cheek; I can smell her now: the bath salts, the faintest whiff of mint toothpaste on her breath, underneath that, her scent, the smell of Lavender. I run a finger from the small of her foot, up the inside of her calf, her thigh. She murmurs a distant frustration as I take my hand away and cup her breast. Still she knows I’m trying to avoid something, trying to distract her into pleasure.

"How was your trip?"

The day, the traveling, had left me weary, allowing me to escape into sleep, but now my nightmare had left me exposed to her questions.

I spay my hand across her buttock, and turn my head to kiss her breast. "Tomorrow, my love, some things need to be discussed in light of day."

"We won’t have privacy." She murmurs.

"It involves them."

"How?" I feel her hand snake down my body to capture my growing hardness.

It’s too late, she’s worse than Veritaserum.

"There were petrified bodies in the chamber."

"Your mother?"

"Others I didn’t know anything about." I allow my body’s passion to grow, and I remove all passion from my voice. "The Cursebreaker thought they still might be alive. I think they were my father's insurance policy, something to trade if things went wrong. Many lives for his miserable hide."

"How does that effect Ron & Hermione?"

"We found Percy Weasley."

Her hand’s gentle ministrations stop. "And what else?"

"I want to bury my mother in your family crypt." I say. "And my brother."

Her shock is…painful.

Lavender tends to my hurts, as I explain the remainder of my discoveries. My ardor grows, my hands roam freely over her form, my tongue lingers here…there…drawing responses from her body. Hands run through my hair, gently guiding my lips.

"Wait." She says, and I lift my head, enjoying the rise and fall of her bosom, the flush on its slopes. She struggles to control her breathing. "Do you hear?"

"What my love?" I run my tongue over her pregnant belly, upward.

"The squeaking." She says preventing my lips from descending on her nipple. "It’s Ron and Hermione." She giggles. "They’re shagging."

"No they’re not." I murmur as I descend on her breast. My hands running tantalizing up her thigh.

"Of course they are." She says, even as she gasps, and captures my hand between her legs.

"Not."

"Draco that bed squeaks, I remember…oooooooh!"

"They’re not." I say, even as a hoarse ‘Ron’ reverberates in the night air. "They’re doing what we’re doing."

"What?" Lavender asks as I enter her.

"Making Love."

To be continued.

Next : He loved me. (A chapter in which nothing happens.)

Author’s notes:

Thanks to my Beta ScarlettB


	7. He Loved Me

Smell Of Lavender - Chapter Seven: He Loved Me.

By alloy (Beta'd By Sandy)

The breeze lifts the heat, a little. It takes the fine sheen of perspiration, and teases us with the promise of autumn. Carried away, the morning dew will not return to suffocate us at noon, nor do I think will the gods grace us with a storm this evening.

Lavender will venture outside today. We will breakfast on the veranda. I have chilled the sparkling wine, and the orange juice. I feel Ronald will want to celebrate the good news I have for him.

“Good Morning, Draco.”

The child in her arms is still sleepy; his brown eyes heavy, red hair frames his chubby face.

“Will he come to me?” I ask.

“He might,” she says holding him out to me. Arty is too lethargic to resist, and I find him cuddled into my bare chest.

Hermione’s eyes fall on my arm, on the Dark Mark there.

“It’s fading,” she says.

“It will never go away completely.”

She stops herself from touching it, embarrassed, she considers the table.

“Champagne?”

“I have some good news, from my trip.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to abstain,” she says.

“I’m sure Ron and I can manage.”

We’re interrupted by Lavender as she emerges from the house, Lucius in her arms. He is wide awake, and gives the sleepy Weasley a long stare, as Lavender brings him for me to kiss. Ronald emerges then, his hair wet and untamed from the shower, he too has decided to not bother with a shirt this morning. Squinting at the rest of us, he makes to sit down at the table, and I observe Hermione as she gently parts the hair from his face to kiss him good morning.

Lavender laughs, and tousles Arty’s hair, earning a look of indignation from the child. “You’re just like your Daddy in the mornings.”

Ronald snorts, and gestures for his son, whom he takes, and cradles in his lap. “Don’t worry little man,” he says, “we’ll stick together. Just you and me against the rest, especially your mum, always up at ‘sparrows’ fart’.” Arty responds by planting a soppy open mouth kiss on his father’s cheek.

“Dada.”

“Smart lad, just like your mum.”

Hermione’s face is a picture, switching from mock annoyance to unreserved love; she brings her arms around both her husband and her son, hugging them. Ronald responds by rubbing his wet hair into her neck.

“Ronald,” she squeals laughing. “Draco’s celebrating something.”

Ronald seems to wake up. “Really? What?”

“Actually,” I say, “I think you’ll want to celebrate too, Ron.”

He lifts his head, and focuses his blue eyes on me.

“It’s about your brother, Percy.”

*

“I’m drunk,” I say, as I toss a charcoal briquette onto the braai.

“You’re not drunk,” Ron replies, “you’re just happy.”

His hands and mine are black from the coal dust, his chest is emblazoned with my handprint, and I know there is black dust in my hair.

Hermione confiscated our wands a few beers ago, despite Ron’s complaints about head girls and schoolmistresses. She told us to light it the ‘muggle’ way, but neglected to advise us as to what that way was.

Ron casts a despairing look at Hermione, who gently shakes her head. He turns back to the braai, waves his hand at it dramatically, and bellows, “INCENDIO!”

There’s a popping sound. A single flame burns briefly before disappearing. I’m impressed.

“Do you need some magic mootie, Mr. M?”

Bill James is my slightly eccentric farm manager, a veteran of the Namibian bush war, he married late in life, and the boy at his side is only ten years old despite his father’s gray hair.

He has a bottle of clear liquid, which he proceeds to pour over our charcoal. He extracts a device I’ve come to know as a cigarette lighter from his pocket, and holds it to the rapidly evaporating liquid.

“Va, va, voom,” he says. There is a click, and the braai is engulfed in flames as if we had used our wands.

“Bill James,” he says holding his hand out to Ron, who awkwardly shows him his blackened palm.

“Ag Man, a little dirt don’t matter,” Bill says as he grasps Ron’s hand firmly.

“Ron Weasley.”

Bill spies little Lucius crawling toward him. “Hello Monster,” he says. He notices Arty, and turns again to Ron. “Your lightie?”

“Lightie?”

“Ag, sorry. Your boy?”

“His name’s Arthur.”

“Nice boy.” He turned back to me and hands me the half-full bottle. “Paraffin, keep it away from the lighties, they’ll think it’s water. Narain says they’re pulling shad out at the point, I was on my way there when Mrs. M phoned.”

“She did, did she? Thanks for the detour.”

“Anytime, Mr. M.” He waves good bye, and claps his son on the shoulder. “Kom seun, die vis byt.”

“A muggle?” Ron says. “You hired a muggle?”

I gesture toward the fire. “He does the job.” The heat of the flames fuels a thirst. “Another beer?”

“Did you see it?”

“What?”

“The camel, mate, great big ruddy camel!” Ron laughs at his own wit, and I shake my head. I suspect our wives giggles are directed at us.

“I’ve never been drunk before.”

Ron almost chokes on his beer. “Never?”

I shake my head, sadly. “A Death Eater can’t afford to loose control, especially one in my position.”

“But before that, surely you boozed it up with Crabbe and Goyle?”

“They weren’t friends, Ron, they were servants. I’ve never had friends to get drunk with.”

Ron looks suddenly sober. “I only get pissed with mates, Draco, so you had better damn well be a mate.”

I grin at him. “I thought you said you were only happy?” He returns my grin.

“Day’s still young.”

*

There is no sense in falling over, there is no sense in being sick, or boorish especially when our wives have been so tolerant of our behavior today. We have been merry, despite Ron’s statement of intent, we have merely skirted the edge of drunkenness, and both lunch and dinner have pulled us back safely.

“So when did you and Harry first get drunk together?” I ask.

Ron looks at Hermione, who giggles.

“Oh, of course,” I say. “When did ‘The Trio’ first get drunk together?”

Hermione giggles again. “Actually it was just Ron and I.”

This attracts Lavender’s attention. “You got pissed with Ron Weasley? Miss “Goody-two-shoes,” prefect and head girl?”

Hermione blushes and nods. “Oh, tell the story, ‘Mione,” Ron says.

“Nothing much to tell, really. When my brother was born, Ron and I were left alone in my parent’s house, so we had a bit of a party?”

“Did you shag?”

“No, Lavender we did not shag!”

“Hermione had some Ogdens she confiscated from Seamus, so we decided to have a few.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Well, nothing really, I had, what, three small cups, Ron?”

“Yeah.”

“Three cups, I declared my undying love for Weasley’s and Ron in particular. I leant forward to kiss him…”

“And, and?”

“I vomited into Ron’s lap.”

Lavender covers her eyes and pushes her head back groaning. “You didn’t?”

Hermione nods. “I did, and then Ron did the most wonderful thing.”

“What?”

“He loved me.”

“He shagged you in that state?”

“No, Lavender, he loved me, he carried me to the bathroom, held my hair from my face while I finished being sick, rubbed my back, put me to bed. Then he cleaned up my mess. All without magic.”

Hermione raises her hand to Ron’s cheek, stroking it gently. “He didn’t have to say he loved me, he showed me. He loved me that night by looking after me.”

“That was Christmas of our Sixth year, Ron went with you, and Harry stayed behind.”

“That’s right; Dumbledore wouldn’t let Harry leave Hogwarts.”

“You came back a couple.”

“Yeah, and my little sister had a new boyfriend.”

Hermione laughs. “Oh, come now Ron, you love having Harry as a brother-in-law.”

Ron laughs, and kisses her enthusiastically. “I like having you as wife better.”

Lavender gestures toward them. “You see Draco, for six years we had to put up with their bickering, and it was all just sexual tension.”

“I didn’t see much of the bickering,” I say.

“You reconciled us more often than anyone, Draco. They called Harry the peacemaker, but really, every time you appeared, Ron just abandoned our bickering to defend me.”

“So glad to be of service.”

Lavender shushes me, and returns to the subject that interests her most. “So when did you two finally do it?”

“After Ron rescued me from Malfoy Mansion.”

Ron chuckles, “Apparently watching me destroy your home turned her on. Never tried it again, though.” He says wistfully gazing back at the farmhouse.

I laugh. “You know, Ron, I don’t think I can afford your sex life.”

“Really, what happened?” Lavender insists.

“The truth?” Hermione says. “Ron was too exhausted to travel far. I managed to get us a room in a nearby muggle inn. Later on, much later in fact, in the morning, we made love for the first time.”

“Fifteen minutes later her Dad came bursting through the door,” Ron shivers dramatically, “worse than Death Eaters.”

“How did he know where to find you?” Lavender asks.

“Hermione used her emergency credit card to pay for the room. The muggle bank had instructions to notify her father if it was used.”

“But she was your first, wasn’t she?”

“My first and only,” Ron says, and Hermione nods.

“My first was Seamus,” Lavender says. “Looking back, I realize he wasn’t so much nervous as confused.” She turns to me brightly. “Who was your first Draco?”

“Pansy,” I pause, gathering my thoughts.

“It was just fucking; I had no emotional attachment to her. I don’t think she enjoyed it very much.” I draw a deep breath. “I found out what it was like to be used later. A Death Eater, an older woman, I never knew her name. She used to get aroused by killing muggles.” I pause again; I have their apt attention now. “She just wanted a penis, she didn’t care who was attached. It felt like she had raped me.”

“Draco…” Lavender moves toward me.

“You were the first woman I made love to.”

We are sitting as couples now, I have my arms around Lavender, and Hermione is sitting in Ronald’s lap. The fire mesmerizes us, Lavender strokes my leg, and I see Hermione plant gentle kisses on her husband’s neck.

“I didn’t know you had a brother?” I hear myself say.

“Giles, well you see, he was a secret, mate.”

I nod.

“From you,” Hermione says sadly.

“Is he a Wizard?”

Ronald nods. “He’ll be a right powerful one too. His first magic was an accidental ‘REPARO’.”

“What did he do?” I ask.

“Repaired a book Peter had torn.”

“Peter?”

“Percy’s boy,” Ronald pauses thoughtfully. “Percy doesn’t even know he exists.”

His words herald an end to the evening, and Ronald stands up, lifting Hermione effortlessly into his arms.

 

 

“I think we’ll head to bed.”

I stand pulling Lavender up with me.

“Goodnight,” he says.

“Uh Ron, just so you know, the bed in your room squeaks.”

He flashes me a wicked grin. “Oh Draco, just so you know, your wife’s voice carries.”

To be continued

****

Next: While I Was Gone

Where in Hermione sorts Percy out good and proper.

Authors Note:

1\. This chapter was originally entitled Booze and Chocolates, and involved Chocolate frog cards, new ones boasting Draco, Ron, Harry etc. It just didn’t happen that way.

2\. Braai = Barbecue, in this context a noun.

3\. Mootie – usually a something medicinal used in the context that it’s going to fix the fire. Also something with magical qualities, similar to voodoo.

4\. ‘Kom seun, die vis byt’ – Afrikaans – “Come on son/boy the fish are biting’

5\. Lightie – Child or younger person, usually male, used by both Afrikaans, and Indian population. Not necessarily spelt the way I have.

6\. Narain – An Indian name.

7\. Shad – A fish.

8\. Yes, Bill James’ sentence structure is wrong, but that’s right.

9\. Thanks to ScarlettB, her input on another story, one rejected for CM (I’m not bitter, it was a nice rejection, now available at www.alloy.co.za), resulted in a minor rewrite of the last conversation, and resulted in a whole new chapter.

10\. Thanks to Sandy for stepping to the plate as Beta.

Beta’s note:

Glad to help and I hope you all enjoyed the update! If you did, would you all kindly now show alloy how much so- please review! Thanks. :]


	8. While I Was Gone

Smell Of Lavender Part 8: While I was Gone

By alloy

 

**Part One:**

 

A road ran above the Muggle graveyard, huge concrete pillars which had, in their construction, necessitated the moving of a number of graves, held up one of the arteries to Muggle London. It seems the dead were less disturbed by trucks and busses travelling three stories overhead, than if the road had simply been built at ground level.

Normally, on his solitary once a month vigil to this place, the Minster of Magic would pause and allow himself to be overcome with wonder for Muggle ingenuity. It gave him strength for the rest of his visit.

Today he had a companion. The old wizard walked with a limp. It was for the most attributable to his wooden leg, yet some of it could be as a result of his stance. Despite a magical eye with the ability to survey in 360 degrees, despite young tough Aurors that he had himself trained as Arthur Weasley’s personal protectors guarding every entrance, Alastor Moody maintained his air of paranoia. The Minister knew it wasn’t an act.

The grave was unmarked, save for a small rusting metal number disc. No headstone would ever be placed on this grave, nor would any flowers.

“What do you see, Alastor?”

“I see Percy,” the old Auror said. “Exactly the same as when I found him.”

“What do you mean, Alastor?”

“No decomposition, Arthur, none. Polyjuice transformations become permanent in death, literally.”

 

“Then the Percy Harry found is the real one?”

“I have no doubt, Arthur.”

“Then lets get rid of this imposter.”

Both wizards pointed their wands at the grave, and earth flew out, quickly exposing a plain coffin. Alastor Moody levitated the coffin lid off and together they looked at the perfectly preserved corpse.

Without hesitation Arthur Weasley raised his wand. “INCENDIO!”

When the flames died down, Alastor summoned on of the Aurors, instructing him to clean up.

“Relieved, Arthur?” the old wizard asked as they walked away.

“In a way,” the Minister of Magic replied. “But now we have no idea who killed George.”

**Part two.**

“Oh, Percy!”

A numbness had begun to set in, even as Percy responded to his mother’s warm greeting, his thoughts raced round and round in his head.

Yesterday, he had made up with Penny, they had made love, made promises, and he had written letters of reconciliation. Yesterday, he had gone to work, to slave, to protect the reputation of a man he no longer respected. Yesterday, he had planned to return home to his fiancé. Yesterday, was six years ago.

This morning he had woken up in a hospital, suffered a grueling interrogation under Veritaserum, and found out his father was Minister of Magic. Harry Potter the man, the Auror, had escorted Penny to his father’s office, and he saw the girl he had made love to yesterday, was now a woman, now a mother. He had a son.

A portkey had taken them to the garden of the Burrow.

The young boy had hidden behind his grandmother’s skirts. His mother had, had to coax him out.

“Peter, say hello to your Daddy.”

“No.”

“Peter, please.”

“My Daddy’s dead! You told me,” the five-year old raised his finger in accusation against his mother.

“Mummy made a mistake,” Molly said. “Daddy was just ill…”

The words sounded funny even to Percy, and he watched in a distracted fashion as his son sought refuge behind Harry Potter. “Please, Uncle Harry, please don’t let them make me.”

Harry looked more embarrassed than amused. “Perhaps we should give Peter a chance to get used to the idea?” he said.

“Harry’s right,” Penny said. “He’s far too agitated at the moment. Let him go and play with Giles, and Dennis will bring him over for dinner. Alright, Percy?”

Percy started, and Penny looked at him expectantly. “Perce?”

“Uh, if you think it’s best.”

The words had barely left his lips, and the child had raced away.

Percy turned, and surveyed his childhood home. It seemed much the same as he remembered it, a little better maintained perhaps.

They entered the house and came into living room. The furniture seemed the same; a few more patches, a few more stains, all except a comfortable looking couch that stood near the fireplace. On it, a young woman, Chestnut haired, pregnant was struggling with a child. She looked up as they entered. It was, Percy realised with a shock, Hermione Granger.

“Harry, for heaven’s sake, give me a hand, your son is simply unmanageable today.”

Harry rushed to assist, holding down the youngster’s arms and torso. Hermione noticed Percy, and nodded to him. “Hello, Percy. JAMES!” She suddenly scooped up a nappy and held it over the child’s groin.

“Honestly, Potter! Your son should come with a warning label.” Harry just grinned in reply.

“Are you and Harry happy together?”

It was a mistake. Even as he heard his father’s wry chuckle, and the looks both Harry and Hermione directed at him, Percy knew he had made an error. A new voice cut short his embarrassment.

“’Mione? Do you know where the nappy bag is? I can’t find it anywhere.”

Oblivious to the tension, Ron walked confidently into the living room, a lively redheaded boy on his hip.

Ron came to a halt as he spied Percy.

“Perce,” he said. He absentmindedly handed the child to Arthur, and engulfed Percy in a bear hug.

Despite having met the adult Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, Percy was simply unprepared for the adult Ron Weasley. His little brother towered over him, and the arms that hugged him contained hard strong muscles. Little Ron had become a man.

Suddenly, Ron broke away, dragging Percy almost effortlessly toward the couch, he placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, and it was almost immediately covered with hers.

“Percy,” he said, his voice bursting with pride and love. “You’ve met my wife, Hermione?”

Percy could only nod. Hermione smiled at him.

“Ron and I are very happy together.”

*

Their voices were soft, soothing, gentle tones intended to lull a child to sleep. Percy stepped out of the bathroom in time see Ron and Harry walk into the nursery. There was a gentle sway in their walk, and each cradled a sleeping child.

“Draco was very pleased you could stay with Lavender, especially after the scare.”

“He was dead on his feet when we got there, what with Lucius and Lavender both being admitted.”

“Lucius will be alright, then?”

“The doctor wants to see him regularly, but he seemed fully recovered by the time we left.”

Percy continued to observe as the two men stood before a cot. It was an old one, though freshly painted a cheerful sky blue, and Percy recognised it as one he had shared with his brothers, one his father had used, though Arthur said it had been old even then.

He watched as first Harry, and then Ron laid their sons in the cot. Their heads at opposite ends, their feet and legs overlapping in the centre.

“They’re getting almost too big to do this now.” Ron said.

Harry nodded. “There’ll be a new one soon enough, mate.”

“Have to paint the cot pink, though.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Hermione had one of those ultrasound thingies; Muggle healer says it’s a girl.”

“Another Weasley girl. Mum will be pleased, still I don’t think we can paint the whole cot pink until we know.”

Ron looked at Harry. “You’ve knocked my sister up again, haven’t you?”

“We only found out last week. Gin wants to wait until Percy’s settled before making an announcement.”

Ron nodded. “How far along is she?”

“Quite far along, actually, we’re only three months behind you lot.”

Ron grinned and grabbed Harry into a rough hug.

Percy slid back into the shadows as the two men quietly exited the nursery. He followed them down the stairs, but hung back observing as Ron sat down next to Hermione. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear, ending his words with a gentle kiss. Percy couldn’t see Hermione’s face, but her arm reached out and caught Harry before he sat down. Drawing him closer, she whispered in turn in his ear, and kissed his cheek. Almost, thought Percy as if the kiss were passed on from Ron.

“Hiding in the shadows?”

Percy turned his head to find Hermione’s father Dennis, standing behind him. “I did that a lot you know, after her mother died, Hermione insisted that I start coming here with them.”

“Why?”

“A Muggle in a house full of wizards? I hid because I felt I didn’t belong. I hid until they noticed. They’ll notice you, too.”

“I don’t belong here either. Yesterday they were children, today…”

“Today they’ve outgrown you.”

“Yes. Even Penny, she’s a woman, a mother, she doesn’t need me, Peter doesn’t need me.”

“Just because they’ve done without you, doesn’t mean they don’t need you. Ron, Harry, the rest of your brothers have done more than their fair share for the boy, but you’re his father, you can give him more.”

“He hates me.”

“He’s confused. Give him a chance and he’ll like the idea of a Daddy. Come out of the shadows, Percy, make a place for yourself.”

Dennis Granger left Percy. He placed a fatherly hand on Ron’s shoulder, before accepting a whisky from Arthur, and settling into a comfortable wingback chair.

Percy drew a deep breath, and went to join the family. Penny had settled into a single chair, and Percy lowered himself onto the rug beneath her feet. After a while, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around him, Percy found his attention drifting.

“Perce?”

Percy shook his head, clearing it of a clutter of idle thought. “Sorry, Penny, I was lost for a while.”

“Not any more. You’re home now.”

“Home,” Percy whispered. He hadn’t been home in such a very long time.

“So,” he said turning to the room in general. “What’s happened while I was gone?”

****

Next: Ron gets his revenge.

Authors notes:  
1\. None of you really wanted to read about Percy’s exit interview did you? I tried writing it, but it bored me to tears.

2\. This story is Pre HBP, so Percy’s attitude toward Harry and Hermione is very much Goblet of Fire driven. Even though we all know different now, don’t we?

3\. It would appear that people do indeed read these notes.

Beta’s Notes:

So, if you truly read these notes, please enjoy and review! Much appreciated! :]


	9. Lend Me Your Eyes

Smell of Lavender Part 9: Lend Me Your Eyes.

By alloy

The light wakens me. I… no… she is sitting in front of the mirror brushing her hair. She is naked.

Auriga Sinistra.

It is ridiculous to say that she feels my gaze, after all, I am using her eyes, but none the less she knows I’m awake.

“Good Morning, Severus.”

I grunt in reply and using her view of myself in the mirror, I try to reach for my eyes.

“It’s Saturday.”

I cease my fruitless scrabbling next to my bed. I don’t have to use those damn things until Monday.

Magic eyes. What begins as a faint twinge on Monday afternoon culminates into a splitting migraine on Friday morning. I complained to the manufacturer.

“It’s more difficult to adjust if you’re a Legilimens. You’re used to using your eyes for other purposes; that interference causes headaches. It will fade with time.”

It never has.

That’s why he took my eyes of course, the Dark Lord, even though he fully intended to kill me. To maim the one person who had managed to best him in this discipline. You can’t do Legilimency with magic eyes.

But, I can use her eyes. I took her once, using the reflection in the mirror. For a brief moment I possessed her more fully than any union of our bodies. Then she showed me her truth strength.

“Don’t.”

“What makes you think I was going to do anything?” I sneer at her.

“You’ll spend the weekend in darkness if you try.” Her threat has meaning; you cannot force someone to lend you their eyes.

She stands up and runs her eyes up and down her reflection in the mirror. She is not perfect; the imperfections stand out on her body, some of which I put there, last night.

“Naughty, Severus. This must have hurt.”

“Didn’t you feel it?”

“I might have…I had other things on my mind.”

She’s looking at the bite, a playful nip really, and I spy my face in the corner of her vision. Hurriedly, I cover the gaping sockets with my arm and scrabble for my blindfold.

“To your left.”

“I can see that as well as you can, Auriga.”

“Fine, then don’t.” She closes her eyes.

It’s not so much the darkness that I experience, but the red haze of her eyelids. She can’t keep her eyes closed for long either and when she sneaks a peek, I find what I’m looking for.

Dressing is awkward; it is easier to do it in darkness. Using her eyes, I must view myself as a puppet, a manikin, whose strings need to be pulled. At least I have some measure of control over my own senses, but she will look where she will, woman! She rakes her eyes up and down my naked form, her gaze lingers on my stomach, there is a red mark welt there. She is not above branding me, herself. She giggles.

“There’s another on your bum.”

Eventually, as I knew she would, she helps me dress and we depart to the great hall for breakfast.

Walking is easy, standing next to her, the difference in perspective is not great and she remembers to walk nearer to the wall so that I don’t bump into things.

The students believe that she is merely leading a blind man, though many of the older ones hold that I continue to wear the magic eyes beneath my blindfold in attempt to trick them into a false sense of security. I suppose in a sense this is true.

The last time Auriga deducted points from a house was when Fred Weasley enchanted her telescopes to view the Hufflepuff girl’s dormitory. That was seven years ago. I, on the other hand, have a reputation to uphold.

We meet Ronald Weasley at the entrance to the Great Hall.

“Severus, Auriga,” he nods at Auriga twice; he is well aware of our situation.

She meets his eye and I launch my mind at him. This is our game. He is a superb Occlumens, far better than Potter.

Images cascade through my brain, most of them designed to irritate me.

_Winning my first Quidditch match against Slytherin without letting in a single goal._

_Punching Vicktor Krum at the Yule ball._

_Kissing Hermione Granger goodbye before facing down Sirius Black._

_Brewing a potion in the girl’s lavatory._

_Teaching Harry Potter how to fly a broomstick._

Then he ejects me from his head.

“What were you brewing?”

“Hmmm?”

“In the girl’s lavatory? That was the only real memory.”

“Hermione brewed up some polyjuice potion in second year.”

“Oh, will you boys stop playing these silly games.” Auriga pulls away from me and marches into the hall, taking her place at the table surveying the students. It’s disconcerting…to be visually moving, yet standing completely still.

She’s trapped me and she knows it. I could better navigate in darkness, but the visual stimuli of the Great Hall overwhelm my other senses. I reach for a wall to get my bearings, if she would just close her damn eyes.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Take two steps forward.” We have done this before, too. Auriga does not understand my relationship with Weasley. She thinks we harbour grudges from his youth, but he was there when my sight was ripped from me. We are equals now. “Turn and walk.”

His pulls me to a halt and places my hand on Auriga’s shoulder. Wordlessly, he sits down in his place next to mine.

*

Draco Malfoy taught her the spell. I had used it the day before on the field of devastation. Draco’s eyes had allowed me to apply my meager medical skills to keeping them alive, from exhaustion, exposure and untold spell damage.

I lay there, in the infirmary, in my complete darkness; I remembered the words he spoke, cruelly abusing my love of Shakespeare.

_“Out, out vile jelly.”_

Then I heard her voice, softly.

_“Friends, Romans, countrymen,” she paused then, “I’ll lend you my eyes.”_

I had hoped she would come; even then, we were discreetly lovers. A woman, who would not accept my pettiness, yet retained my confidences.

I felt the tap of her wand and saw the ugliness that my face had become. “Don’t look at me. Please.”

She turned away, for my benefit not hers. “What would you like to see?”

“What I fought for.”

“The children?”

“They’re not children anymore and no, not them, not now… show me Hogwarts.”

A noise started both of us; Albus Dumbledore had appeared in the infirmary.

“You can’t apparate into Hogwarts,” she said. “Not even him.”

“Portkey,” I hissed.

Dumbledore had gone behind the curtains separating the infirmary and he reappeared with Arthur Weasley.

“She wants you now, Arthur.”

“I can’t leave the children.”

“She won’t keep you long, Arthur, and Molly will stay with the children.”

“I…”

“I have no choice but to take you, Arthur.”

And they both disappeared with a clap.

She turns to look at me, until I remind her to stop. “What was that about?”

“It’s not important now. Show me Hogwarts.”

She nodded a silly gesture to a blind man, one I only understood because her vision moved up and down.

She showed me Hogwarts that night, not the sanctuary, the place of refuge and safety that it is for me, but the place of magic and marvel that it is for her.

_She went down to the dungeons, my dungeons, where Draco’s retarded crony, Goyle, refused her entrance to the Slytherin common room, and I took a hundred points from my own house that that night. She followed Neville Longbottom into Gryffindor tower, as he insisted that Draco Malfoy spend the night in their common room and left just as Lavender Brown appeared to greet her lover. She took me to the Great Hall, the staff room, her astronomy tower and from it spied the Quidditch pitch and Hagrid's cabin. Before she finally retired to her quarters, undressing for me, she showed me her scars in the mirror, allowing the spell to fade as she fell asleep and I returned to my own personal darkness._

*

The light wakens me. I see a toilet bowl, my vision is moving up and down in a manner that suggests Auriga is panting. I hear the distant sound as the vomit hits the water. Limp, bedraggled hair frames my vision and pale sweaty hands clutch the ceramic.

It all fades into my bedchamber, as I insert an eye and the magic of it interrupts her spell.

I open the bathroom door. “Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you should, I’m sure Poppy has something that will help.”

“No, I’m not ill.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Auriga, I woke up to witness you vomiting. Let’s go to Poppy and she’ll find out what’s wrong.”

“I need you to brew me a potion.”

“I’m sure Poppy has an adequate supply of anything you might need.” I go to help her off the floor and she grips my arm with almost maniacal strength.

“I’m not sick, you bastard, I’m pregnant. And you,” she pokes my bare chest, “are going to brew me a potion to get rid of it.”

“You told me once you wanted children.” She flinches, that was a long time ago. I remember every conversation I ever had with her. Every single, silly thing.

“I wanted a lot of things and I never got them. Why start now?” A part of me cringes, how could I allow my bitterness to taint her so.

“What did you want?”

“I wanted a life, a husband, a house, children that I could watch get on the Hogwarts express. Instead I’m trapped in this damn castle.”

“Trapped by me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what keeps you here?”

“I need you.”

“What?” I had thought the opposite applied, I was the one she dressed every morning, the one she guided in eating, led through the castle, lent her eyes to. If anything I needed her.

“I love you, you bastard!”

She loved me? I lean against the bathroom wall and sink to the floor stunned. How could anyone love me?

“Happy now, Severus Snape. It’s not just fucking for me anymore.” She moves to leave the bathroom and I take her wrist to stop her.

“Don’t…”

“Find a whore, Severus.” She pulls her wrist from my hand and is gone.

It takes me moments to dress and I leave my quarters in search of her. I pause, would she have gone to the infirmary, her quarters, or even her tower. I almost rip the magic eye from my socket and for a brief moment I see her quarters. At her door, I remove the eye again. I find myself staring at her wrist; she is holding the vein open with her wand, bleeding, as is her nature, into the bathroom basin.

The blast with which I gain access to her quarters attracts attention and I thank Merlin for Flitwick’s competency in healing charms.

*

The colours wake me. I am looking at a person without skin; I am watching the flow of blood through the veins, a push with each pulse, with each beat of the heart. Am I dead? I try to move and nothing happens, save the person I’m looking at stirs. My vision shifts, I look deeper into the person’s body. A woman, I’m looking into her womb and I find life there.

“Do you see, Auriga?”

“Severus?”

“I want you to see, so you don’t do something stupid again. I want you to see, our child, the fruit of our love.”

“You love me, Severus?”

“I’m showing you our love, Auriga.”

_This time, he’s lent me his eyes._

To be continued...

******

Author’s Notes:

1\. So Snape survived the war.

2\. This chapter was inspired by Erised http://www.checkmated.com/story.php?story=3662

3\. If you are confused, this note is for you.

There is a spell which allows someone to share what they are seeing. It is like viewing a personal cam. You are seeing this stuff, but have absolutely no control over what the person looks at. Imagine Aurors using it to show their bosses what they're seeing, or remote medicine. My beta, Sandy, described it as an internal, real-time pensieve. (Thanks for your input Sandy)

One of the things I am trying to portray is that if Snape looks through Sinistra's eyes, he sees everything from her perspective. All his other senses stay with him except sight. I imagine it's terribly disconcerting, especially if she leave's his side, the perspective would differ dramatically and I think it would be paralyzing.

Oh yes, I assume you can’t do Legilimency with magic eyes, but you can use someone else’s real eyes.

Beta’s Notes:

If you are confused - read A/N’s first, re-read with those in mind, it will all make sense (I promise) and then REVIEW…. Thanks.


	10. Just Where It Is

Just Where It Is.

By alloy.

If I were a lover of women, she is the woman I would choose to be my lover.

Perhaps if I were a man I would choose someone else, I know I wouldn’t choose me. It’s her hair of course, its vibrancy signifies life, to me, potency, and then there’s her athletic disposition; her body, hard from exercise. It makes her pregnancy easier, being so fit and despite the roundness of her belly and fullness of her breasts, you can still see her strength. Then of course there are the freckles, they go hand in hand with the hair. I can’t help but wonder if Harry counts them, those freckles in those intimate places, the way I count them on her brother.

I like men of course; men not boys, but then my boys have always been men. Even before their voices deepened and their shoulders broadened, even before such physical things mattered to me, even before they realized that I was a woman and not a girl.

I like the hardness of men, the functionality of their bodies, of Ron’s body, of how it seems perfectly suited to me, to love me, to pleasure me, to impregnate me. Of his hair, his freckles, his goofy grin, his lapses of memory when confronted with silly things he doesn’t want to do, how his jaw sets when faced with the inevitable, how he overcomes such challenges.

Ginny shares these qualities, which is why I find myself idly speculating that perhaps in a strange horrible world without men, she would choose me like her brother did?

“I’m worried about James.”

Her voice, encompassing a strange lilting echo of Ron’s childish unbroken one, startles me.

“What’s wrong with James?” I cast my eye over my godson, a Harry in miniature. He is fast asleep in his Chudley Cannons Quidditch robes, the orange suiting him far better than my poor little Arty, equally asleep alongside his cousin.

“You’ll think I’m silly.”

I shake my head. “What’s bothering you, Ginny?”

“I think he looks like someone else.”

My jaw drops. It’s inconceivable, even if the child didn’t resemble his father so much, inconceivable that Ginny would cuckold Harry, inconceivable because we were there, Ron and I, in that remote seaside cottage when they made that child. We were there in the other room making our own.

“I’ve never cheated on Harry.”

If she wants a response, I disappoint her.

“I’ve never been with another man.”

There’s fear in her eyes, genuine fear and it’s not new.

“What are you afraid of, Ginny?”

“He looks like Tom.”

I snort in derision. “Nonsense!”

“You never saw him, Hermione.”

“Of course I did.” Of course I did, I remember even through the pain, Draco’s hand trembling against me as he lied to his Dark Lord.

“You never saw Tom.”

“He looked like Harry. Tom I mean. Voldemort never looked like Harry. There’s an explanation for that?”

She looks at me expectantly and I feel a surge of love for her. The confidence they have for me is sometimes overwhelming.

“Tom assumed Harry’s features, some of them at least, because you were in love with Harry. He could gain your trust more easily by appearing like an older more mature Harry.”

“Why appear that way to Harry?”

“What Harry wanted more than anything in the world was family, by appearing like an older version of himself, Tom became like an older brother, or even a memory of James.”

“You made Tom appear like he did, you and Harry,” I finish.

She wants to believe me, I see a desperate longing in her eyes, the same longing I saw in Ron’s eyes when he finally drummed up enough courage to say he loved me; that yawning eternal moment when I tried to comprehend his words and reply.

“He raped me, Hermione.”

She doesn’t mean physically, there are many ways to rape in the Muggle world, so many more ways of doing it in the magical one.

“I’m so afraid he left something behind.”

“He didn’t,” I say firmly. “That portion of his soul was tied to the diary. It was destroyed by the one thing Tom feared least --- a serpent’s tooth.”

“But don’t you think…”

“No. Only one man has ever left any mark on your soul and it’s not a blemish.”

She blushes, almost a coy schoolgirl again, there’s absolutely no need to say his name.

“But….” I lower myself onto the rug between the children. “There is his nose.”

Ginny’s eyes widen. “What about his nose?”

I gently stroke James’ dark hair. “It’s a very nice nose.”

“Hermione!”

“But it’s not Harry’s nose.”

Almost automatically her hand reaches to her face.

“It’s not your nose, either.”

“What are you trying to say, Hermione?”

I try not to laugh, her stance, her manner; I can almost see Ron in her shadow. They are both so Weasley!

I gently touch the tip of my godson’s nose and he stirs in his sleep. “I think his nose suits him.”

Ginny clenches her teeth and folds her arms over her belly adopting an air of resignation that Ron mastered so well at school. She knows I’ll tell her in my own time. Ron doesn’t do this anymore; he has other more efficient methods that are happily denied Ginny.

James stirs more vigorously and I pat his bottom, cooing softy, but loud enough for Ginny to hear. “It’s such a pretty nose isn’t it, Jim?”

Ginny sighs and puffs up a cushion with excess vigour.

“Wouldn’t mummy love to know where it came from?”

Ginny snorts.

“Aunt ‘Mione knows where it came from. Oh yes, she does.”

“You know,” Ginny’s voice is dry and sardonic, “my brother might just be a saint.”

“You’re such a special boy, with such a special nose. Your cousin is, too.”

My own son stirs and I gently pull him closer so that his reaching hand can touch me.

“Yes, Arty, you’ve got your Daddy’s nose.”

“Ron’s Nose!” There’s indignation in her voice, as if I had accused her of incest.  
  
“RON’S NOSE!”

“Rupert’s actually.”

“Grandpa Rupert?”

“Yes, of course, haven’t you noticed how much Ron looks like him.”

“I never thought about it.”

She never had reason to, really. She’s never met her grandfather. The old Auror had died shortly after Percy was born.

It had been Mad-Eye Moody who had pointed it out to me. One quiet evening at Grimmauld Place he had pulled me aside and shown me a tatty old photo of himself, an eager young Auror, whole and complete.

_“That’s the stock, lass,” he had said. “That’s where your young wizard comes from.”_

“What?” I had replied.

He pointed to the man standing behind him, his hand in a fatherly fashion on young Moody’s shoulder.

“Rough Rupert,” he said. “Finest Auror this country’s ever seen, Arthur’s father.” He gestured back to Ron who was thrashing Harry at chess. “Ronald’s grandfather.”

I examined the photo closely trying to see how the grey haired man in the photo could resemble my Ron. Then Rupert smiled, just briefly, his mouth underlining his nose and I saw what Mad-Eye saw.

As my finger traced the nose in the photo, Mad-Eye continued. “Bringing down Malfoy Manor, Rough Rupert would have approved,” he chuckled. “He would have approved of the bit afterward, too.”

His magic eye must have detected my blush in the shadows. “I’m not trying to shame you, lass.”

“He’s from the finest stock, your Ronald, the very finest, don’t forget that.”  


I never have.

 

“It’s a Weasley nose, Ginny, nothing to be ashamed of.”

She leans forward and playfully slaps my hands away as I try to cover both children’s noses.

“They have the same nose.” I nod. “Ron’s nose?”

“Rupert’s.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “You only see Ron’s nose.”

I take a deep breath, hoping I won’t offend her. “James looks a little like a mix of Ron and Harry.”

She purses her lips, cocking her head to look at me. “And you love both of them?”

“Yes.”

The door opening interrupts us; Ron and Harry appear broomsticks in hand. I get up, cupping Ron’s face in both hands, I taste his lips. He is hot, sweaty and yummy.

Ginny kisses Harry, but she is distracted, staring at her brother.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks.

“Nothing,” she says.

“It’s your nose, Luv.”

“What about my nose, is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” Ginny says. “It’s perfect.” She glances at the two little boys waking to their father’s voices. “Just where it is.”

Fin


	11. No Absolution

Smell Of Lavender Chapter 10 – No Absolution.

By alloy

“You stay away from my wife! You blond haired Lothario!” Ronald takes me by surprise as he grabs my muggle style collar. He winks at me. “I won’t have it I tell you!” Out of the corner of my eye I spot Rita Skeeter and Ronald’s purpose becomes clear.

I exaggerate the effects of his gentle shove so that it appears that he is manhandling me, even as I give a loud reply to his allegations. “Maybe I can give her something you can’t.” I drop my voice so that only he and Harry can hear, “Blonde children.”

Harry chuckles despite himself, before putting on his best Auror voice for the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron, “Move along folks, this is a private affair.” Ron sniggers, threatening to spoil the illusion and Harry makes a show of recognizing Rita, causing her to flee, before he made good on a threat to confiscate her notes.

Ron breaks down completely as Harry drags us into muggle London. “Lothario?” I ask.

“Hermione called you that once. I remember asking her what it meant.” The muggles begin looking at him curiously.

“You’re causing a scene, Weasley.”

Ron looks at me with one eyebrow raised and relapses into laughter. Harry and I take an arm each (Merlin, the son of a bitch is tall) and drag him down the street until he finds his own feet.

We’re still chuckling three blocks away when I see it.

I stop dead in my tracks and Ron bumps into me. “What the hell, Draco…” His eyes follow mine. “That house belongs to Neville, Hannah actually. They’ve rented it out since….”

“I know.”

“Draco,” Harry asks, “are you alright?”

There is no laughter in any of us now. “I need a drink.”

“There’s a pub on the corner,” Ron says. “Do you have any muggle money?”

Harry nods and I allow them to lead me into the cramped muggle drinking establishment.

“A booth,” Ron says to the waitress, “and a bottle of bourbon.”

The bottle arrives soon after we’re seated. They’re sitting next to each other, Harry and Ron, and I suddenly feel very lonely on my side of the table.

“How do you know the Abbot house, Draco?”

Harry answers for me. “He was there.”

“Did you…I mean…”

“No,” Harry answers again. “He didn’t, at least not according to his file. Not that time.”

“We were there,” I say. “Severus and I, but we couldn’t do anything without breaching protocol.”

“Your lives were more important.” For a moment I think Ronald is mocking me and then I realize that the tone of his voice is sadness. “Merlin, I’m glad I was never in your position.”

“Your report says it was an induction?”

“Yes. That’s what made it impossible to stop. At some point the Dark Lord would have to appear, you see, to apply the mark.”

Ronald nods; it’s his job to be well versed in these practices.

“The Muggles took a long while to die. Some muggles can be curiously resistant of Crucio. Eventually, Hawthorne used Imperio on both of them and told them to kill each other.”

“The killing curse too good for them?” says Harry, anger coiled in his voice.

“That’s precisely what he said.”

Harry shakes his head. “Reading about these things is not the same as you telling us about it.”

“Telling is not the same as doing it, Harry.”

“Draco, in your file… this happened more than a few times, why do you remember this instance?”

“It’s when I found out about my mother,” I say. “That my father was to kill her.”

“Draco…you don’t have to.”

“I do, Ron, I need to tell it.” I catch his eye. “I can’t burden Lavender with too much of this.”

He nods and after a moment Harry does too.

“My source was a woman.” I glance at Ron. “The one that liked to fuck after killing.”

“The one that raped you?”

“The first time, yes, after that it became a very effective tool to gather information.”

“Ron, Lavender doesn’t need to know that it happened more than once.”

“She won’t.”

“You whored yourself?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” I say. “During sex, her mind was very open. I was able to penetrate it for a while; there were things she knew, that she didn’t even realize. All the Death Eater’s she was fucking, they treated her like nothing, so they spoke freely in her presence, even my father, even the Dark Lord.”

“It must have been difficult to get the information before you climaxed.”

“Ron?” Harry looks at him in astonishment and I’m not surprised to see Ron blushing.

Ron draws a deep breath and shrugs. “Doing my Legilimency training, Hermione and I used to play games. She said it was good for control. She’s very good at control.”

Ron turns back to me. “This woman, she knew about your mother’s murder?”

“She knew it was going to happen. Not that it interested her much; a murdered witch wasn’t nearly as much of a turn on as watching the Abbots kill each other.”

“How did she know about it?”

“She was servicing the Dark Lord when he gave my father the instruction.”

“I didn’t know that Voldemort even had sex.”

“Oh, he fucked like a teenager, or at least how a teenager would if he could have any woman he fancied. Severus suspected that it had something to do with the link that you shared. That your teenage hormones were somehow powering his sex drive.”

“So she whored herself, then?”

“She didn’t whore herself, Harry, she enjoyed every moment of it. The men, the women, taking boys like me, that she especially liked. Severus and I were the only ones who whored ourselves.”

“Why did Voldemort want your mother dead?”

“It was for me, you see, the Dark Lord perceived my mother as my weakness. My weakness, my father’s mistake to rectify.”

“He thought he was doing you a favour?”

“No. The Dark Lord didn’t do favours. He was merely forging a stronger weapon for his use.”

Ronald pours another round from the now half-empty bottle. “He killed her after he took Hermione.”

“Yes. Father liked to have flurries of activity. Kidnap a Mudblood, kill a wife, and massacre a family of blood traitors.”

Ron winces at the term ‘Mudblood.’ “You frighten me sometimes, Draco, the way your mind changes broomsticks like that.”

I catch his eye. “We’re all frightening men, Ron. So few people realize what any of us is truly capable of.”

“What happened after you found out?”

“I hurried to the mansion, of course, but I was too late. It’s not pleasant, Harry, finding your mother like that. I had to make her respectable, you know, before I put her in the chamber.”

I remembered the shock of black, glistening, sticky pubic hair set against her pale, white thighs, the grotesque smile of pleasure on her face, her arms in velvet shackles stretched out above her head, the ropes tied to nothing….I remember wondering if he untied them before or after….

“What about Hermione?” Ron asks.

I shake my head. “Didn’t know she was there. My father hid that information from the Dark Lord.”

“The Brown massacre?”

“That was planned.” I clear my throat. “An example had to be made. Being pureblood wouldn’t protect you if you harboured Mudbloods.”

“Your father was particularly vicious there.”

“It was the house-elf, I think. Father wouldn’t have stood for the creature defying him. She was a brave thing defending her mistress like that.”

“Does Lavender know how they were found?” Harry asks.

“No, and she never will. All she knows is that I was too late and that I killed my father.” I down the last of my bourbon. “That I failed her.”

“No, you didn’t. You did all you could, that’s not failure, that’s circumstance.”

Harry stands up. “And I know all about circumstance, mate, my entire life is circumstance.”

I see the house again, in the distance, as we leave the pub. Ron comes up behind me.

“Does Hannah know?”

“Yes. I told her at the end of it; told them all, actually, the ones that I could find.”

“How did she take it?”

“Badly. Neville found me later. He said she understood my position, but that she didn’t want to talk to me.”

Ronald places his hand on my shoulder; he is more a physical man than an eloquent one. Why should he be able to find the words that I cannot?

‘Circumstance,’ Harry had said.

He catches my eye. “Some things will always be unresolved, Draco.”

Ron starts us both by clearing his throat. “It’s late,” he says. “Perhaps we could do this, another day?”

I see the longing in his eyes, the need.

“Yeah, Gin will be worried,” Harry says.

Our errand can wait; it’s of no importance, really.

My own need wells up, akin to theirs, not for resolution or forgiveness but for the very reason I draw breath, the reason my heart pumps, the reason for without which every day, I could not go through the motions of living.  
  
A need for Lavender.

To be continued….

*****

Next : The girl who would be Mrs. Malfoy, a tip of the hat to Half Blood Prince. (Ron does the unforgivable)

Ugly Girls Club.

Author’s note:  
1\. Two thanks to Hannah both for the inspiration on the previous chapter and for allowing me to bounce the ideas of this chapter off her, resulting in changes to give it more punch.


	12. Ugly Girls Club

  
Author's notes: Ron does the unforgivable  


* * *

Smell of Lavender : Ugly Girls Club.

By alloy.

He won the Quidditch match, a champion performance, hero of the school, well at least of our house. I thought we would celebrate together, him and I; that when he landed his broom he would come to me in his suave casual manner. Instead he went to her, to Lavender Brown with the perfect blonde hair, her perfect nose and blemish free face, legs that ran all the way to her perfect bum and tits like grapefruits. So perfect for him, so matching, and then he began to snog her face off. We were supposed to go back to our common room, drink French Champagne and if he begged enough I would let him have his way with me, fully expecting Belgium chocolate in the morning. Instead she’s probably opened her legs for him already, while I hide here in the remotest, most obscure section of the library. Slytherins don’t cry in front of Slytherins you see. It’s all about plausible deniability.

“Are you all right?”

I recognize her voice. Hard not to really, all the talking she does sucking up to teachers. Thank Merlin Snape doesn’t put up with that sort of nonsense.

She comes closer, as I struggle to control my breathing. She stops dead when she recognizes me.

“What do you want?” I ask harshly.

“I thought you might need help,” she said. “Obviously I was wrong.” She turns to go, straightening her back. It’s unfortunate that her bushy hair undermines any attempt at dignity she might essay.

“Wait!” I hear myself say. “Why do you come here?”

“To cry mostly or to hide away. It’s safer than the girls’ toilet. Madame Prince won’t tolerate Trolls in the Library.”

Already it was the stuff of Hogwarts legends. Granger had been crying in the girls’ toilet, on Halloween of all nights, in a homesick muggle sort of way. A wayward troll had trapped her there and the great Harry Potter had saved her; making her his devoted disciple in the process.

“Potter wouldn’t know where to find you.”

She gave me a funny look. “Ron always knows where to find me. He just knows not to come here.”

“Weasley?” I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice. “Weasley saved you from the troll. Everybody thinks Potter did it.”

“Not everyone. Some people actually bothered to ask.”

“You’re besotted with Weasley?” I challenge. I continue when she fails to deny it. “Do you really think a M…” I stop myself timeously. “Muggleborn like you can have a chance with a Pureblood like Weasley?”

“No,” she says in a whisper. “He’s more interested in pretty girls.” She spits the next word out with more venom than I thought she had in her. “Veelas!”

“Lavender Brown!” I say with equal venom.

“Oh!” she says. “I see.”

We stare at each other for a moment and then our pact is sealed.

“Ugly girls club,” I say and she nods holding out her hand. I take it, more out of manners than anything else, but it feels surprisingly normal.

“Pansy Parkinson,” I introduce myself as if were meeting for the first time and perhaps we are.

“Hermione Granger.”

“This can’t leave here, Hermione.”

“I know.”

She turned to leave and paused. “Lavender’s allergic to dust. It’s dusty in Snape’s dungeon sometimes, especially at the back where Draco sits. A draught could ruin any potion she and Draco might be brewing.”

It was a useful piece of information, double edged perhaps, but useful. My own advice for her was a little more personal. “Don’t open your legs for Weasley, no matter what he begs or promises. It won’t do you any good.”

It was as if our little pact had cast a spell on that little alcove, as if the enormity of a Slytherin and a Gryffindor clasping hands in companionship was a circumstance that the walls of Hogwarts castle couldn’t contain in silence. We met other girls there, all seemingly drawn to that place by the way they thought about themselves. I inducted them, shaking their hands irrespective of circumstance or station, and Granger created a book visible only to us ugly girls, which recorded the advice and condolences we made.

Then I met Lavender Brown there.

Draco had left her, not just her, the school, society. My own heart clenched when she said he had gone to become a Death Eater. She told me about Draco then, her Draco, not mine, and I began to recognize that the way he treated her was the way Weasley now treated Granger. The way I was being treated by the Gryffindor who was secretly courting me. He was in love with her.

I took the shock of that realization on summer holiday with me. The second shock came halfway through that holiday.

I was at the breakfast table with my father. He snorted a familiar sound of disgust.

“All this fuss,” he said throwing down that morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet. “Simply because a Mudblood’s gone missing.” At once my mother hissed at him, almost like a kneazle. “We don’t use that language at the dinner table.”

Hermione Granger waved at me from the front page of the newspaper.

“What would anybody want with her?” I asked. “She’s nobody.”

My father waited until my mother had left the table. “She’s Harry Potter’s girlfriend,” he whispered. “Lucius thinks it will be useful to have her on ice.”

“On ice?” I queried

“I’ve told you too much already. Now shoo, do homework or something. Don’t be around when my business associates arrive.”

Being summarily dismissed suited my purpose, but it still took me most of the day to find that wretched hovel the Weasley’s called home. In retrospect, I should have simply flooed there.

It was a cold and miserable rainy evening when I finally found the place. At first I thought it was deserted and I cursed, worried that all the time I had wasted might have cost my friend dearly. I’m not sure when I began to think of Hermione as my friend. I just know that… that was exactly how I felt about her when I saw her picture in the newspaper.

A rhythmic sound attracted my attention, and I wondered to the back of the house and found a Weasley. Not just any Weasley, Merlin knows there are plenty of them, but her Weasley- Ronald.

He was chopping wood, not just chopping, but attacking the woodpile, trying to vent an anger that couldn’t be sated. Even then the air was fairly glowing around him.

“Ronald.”

It’s a moment before he recognizes me and when he does, his hatred is almost tangible. “Get the hell off our land!” His words and the wind conspire and I find myself on my arse. “BUGGER OFF!” he roared.

“I know where she is.”

He roars something unintelligible and I find myself hoisted effortlessly into the air. He holds me there, with one arm, his wand (an ominously long instrument) in the other.

“CRUCIO!”

My utter astonishment is cut short by pain and I writhe in agony for seemingly hours. In reality he releases the curse after a few seconds.

_“Don’t!” I say. “Don’t become what she hates.”_

He looks at me, a fearful glow in his eyes. “How would you know?”

“We talked,” I say. “In the library, at the back…the place where she goes to cry.”

“Go on.”

“I go there to cry, too.”

“I don’t believe you.” He raised his wand again, and I frantically sought for something to make him believe me.

“Bilius! Your middle name is Bilius. She says you hate it.” He raised his wand further and I began weeping. “You’re named after your uncle who saw the Grim.” I closed my eyes waiting for the pain.

“Where is she?”

“Lucius Malfoy took her. She’s probably at the manor.”

“MALFOY!”

He lowers me gently to the ground, even as he begins glowing brighter and brighter, the magic surrounding him. Little puffs of steam signal the evaporation of raindrops as they hit him and I feel like I’m in a furnace.

“It’s a trap,” he says.

“Who would want to trap you?”

Weasley turns to me; his soft words batter my tired frame. “Thank you, Pansy.”

With a deafen crash he was gone.

*

The children are restless, so we cut our lunch short; there’s no need for our meeting nowadays save for companionship. The Ugly Girls Club continues at Hogwarts I understand, but Hermione and I can no longer consider ourselves members in good standing. We’ve both married our handsome princes.

I decline the Geraldo’s offer of more coffee and slide the photo over to her side of the table.

“What’s this, Pansy?”

“Your husband and Draco roughhousing in the Leaky Cauldron,” I chuckle. “For Rita Skeeter’s benefit. “Apparently he called Draco a ` blond haired Lothario.’”

She leans back in her chair and laughs heartily. “It’s revenge,” she says. “For that photo of Draco and I dancing in Manhattan.”

“It’s taken him a while.”

“Ron likes to nurse these things.”

“Colin says he has to run it. It’s too good not to.”

“HOGWARTS PROFESSOR IN BRAWL WITH WEALTHY PHILANTHROPIST!”

“Something like that.”

Geraldo brings the bill and moves to place it in front of Hermione. “No Geraldo,” I say. “It’s my turn this week.”

“As you say, Mrs. Creevey, as you say.”

Fin

***

Next: I’m Yours


	13. I'm yours

Smell of Lavender Part 13: I’m Yours

By alloy.

“Losing my virginity hurt. Not because my lover was cruel or insensitive, but because he was clumsy with exhaustion. Earlier in the evening he had penetrated a nest of death eaters to free me, performing great magics in the process. He had enough energy to cry though, and his tears washed away a multitude of hurts.”

Hermione looked down at the words she had written and shook her head. “I’m channeling Lockhart,” she thought.

Her publishers had bought Harry’s story perhaps influenced by the fact that Harry had authorized it, but Harry’s story had been easy to write. Her relationship with him- uncomplicated, even his relationship with Ginny was easy to narrate. Love is easy to report on when you’re not involved. That was the problem now, her story- hers and Ron’s- was different. It was easy not to write about Harry and Ginny’s intimacies, even those few that she knew of, but with her own intimacies, her moments with Ron, the line became very blurred.

“Still awake?” Her husband’s voice was groggy with sleep.

“It’s hard,” she said.

“Is it?” he replied. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Hermione chuckled despite herself. It was only once they had become lovers that Ron’s taste for sexual innuendo had emerged. Even now after the birth of two children, even now half asleep.

“Prat.”

“Why is it hard?” he said.

Hermione bit back her retort; he had been asking about her writing. “It’s about us. Harry’s easy to write about. It’s his story and Ginny’s, and I’m close enough to both of them that I can make it real, but us…”

“You’re too involved.”

Hermione sighed, “Far too involved.”

“What are you trying to write about?”

“About that night that you rescued me, the first time we made love. I thought I’d try and include Draco’s joke, you know, the one about affording our sex lives.”

Ron chuckled. “Wish I’d thought of that one.”

A faint movement in the nearby crib snapped his attention away. It always amazed Hermione how quickly her normally lethargic husband could move; in a flash he was standing over the crib. Hands hovering, ready to scoop up and comfort the child. It proved unnecessary as she settled again.

“Almost nosh time,” Ron said coming to stand behind her. He massaged her tired shoulders briefly before his hands drifted lower, cupping her breasts through her nightgown. His hands were more gentle than normal, demonstrating his awareness of how tender her milk-engorged breasts were.

“If it’s almost ‘nosh’ time for Arial, Luv, then what are you doing?”

“Shhh,” he said. “Quality control. Hmmm.” Ron raised his hands, ever so gently offering her more support than the nursing bra. “Extra body for better flavour.”

“You make me sound like a beer.”

“I could get drunk on you every day,” he said nuzzling her neck and then gently biting her earlobe.

“Don’t get yourself too excited.”

Groaning, Ron pulled himself away, even as the baby stirred in earnest and began crying.

Ron the lover became Ron the father, scooping his daughter up, fruitless trying to comfort the hungry child, he brought her to Hermione who had slipped the straps of her nightdress off her shoulders and unclipped the nursing bra. The child latched quickly, sucking strongly.

“She’s a Weasley, alright,” Hermione mused even as Ron left the bedroom briefly. “Likes her food.” Ron returned with a glass of water for her. She smiled at him. He was her lover at so many levels, knowing when her shoulders hurt from writing, when her breasts were tender, that nursing always made her thirsty.

“Dad likes the packaging.”

“The new improved packaging?”

“The overall package.”

Ron reclined on the bed with the easy casual grace that had always taken her breath away.

“You should start at the mansion, how those bastards were treating you,” Ron grinned. “How your lover swooped in, righteously smiting the vile creatures before whirling you away to accept the grateful gift of your sacred pearl.”

Hermione laughed, “Where did you pick up that rubbish?”

“Albus. He was reading some book at lunch, ‘The Gallant Privateer.’ He’s thinking of making it a prescribed book for Muggle Studies.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I think he was trying to get a rise from Marchland. You know how he likes to stir things up, keep things fresh.”

Ron yawned and lay back on the bed, struggling to stay awake as Hermione transferred her daughter to her other breast.

Ron lost his battle and began snore gently.

‘Her sacred pearl,’ as if a thin piece of flesh held some intrinsic value, as if Ron gained something of value by piercing it. His reward had been tears, not hers, she had blinked back hers. His tears, warm on her shoulder, even as he had shuddered warmth inside her.

The nice part had been sleeping together; Ron’s lanky body warming hers, his big hands resting on her possessively, his spent manhood nestling against her buttocks.

Arial followed her father in sleep, her tiny stomach full; she sucked in slumber halfheartedly on Hermione’s breast before detaching. She would sleep now until morning.

Hermione placed the child in her crib and glanced at her sleeping husband. He had gotten better, much better, as generous a lover as he was a father, a friend, a teacher.

A Mage, that’s what Albus Dumbledore had called him after that. The Mage Weasley; what he still called Ron on formal occasions.

Hermione turned away from her love and bent over the desk. She began to write:

*

_I was taken from Flourish & Botts; a back room rich with hidden texts that I loved to sift through. Ron had gone to visit his brothers, promising to return soon and he did, but I was already gone. _

 

Lucious Malfoy had by this time become very skilled in the art of kidnapping. I remember nothing but waking up in Malfoy Mansion.

“Harry Potter’s little Mudblood girlfriend,” Lucius said. “My son admires you, you know, despite himself. I do believe he’s jealous of Potter.” He spat at me. “Filth! Even the diluted Potter line doesn’t deserve you.” Held immobilized, Malfoy’s saliva dripping from my face, I couldn’t help but wonder what game Draco was playing with his father.

 

Draco knew about Ron and I, he had mocked Ron often enough, persistently asking if my dowry was so much that he found it necessary to sully his pureblood heritage. Why let his father believe otherwise?

 

Perhaps Lavender was right, perhaps the sprig of her namesake herb, anonymously delivered, had come from Draco. Perhaps Draco was misleading his father to protect her.

 

“Cat got your tongue, Mudblood?”

 

My satisfaction at spitting in his face was cut short by the pain of Crucio. The last thing I remember before darkness overwhelmed me was Lucius Malfoy snapping my wand.

 

I dreamt of Ron, our second year of school, of him struggling with his broken spell-o-taped wand, of that warm feeling I had felt when he had tried to curse Malfoy in my defense, how that had grown over the years into love.

 

My wand was still broken when I woke up; discarded on the floor in front of me like so much rubbish.

 

I was bound, lying on the floor of what I judged to be an upstairs bedroom. Night had fallen. They’ve left a callow youth to guard me. He had left his mask off and his eyes told me much about him. He was of a sort, a pathetic perpetual man-child who thought humiliating those weaker than him made him strong.

 

“I need the bathroom,” I said.

 

“Mudbloods don’t get toilet privileges,” he replied, not bothering to hide a certain glee in his voice.

 

I held his gaze not wanting to give him the satisfaction of embarrassing me.

 

“So are you going or not,” he said with just a little too much eagerness.

 

The first astronauts went in their spacesuits. It wasn’t a question of humiliation or self-respect; it was a question of engineering, necessity and plumbing.

 

I continued to hold his gaze as I soiled myself. “Now you stink,” he says, “Like a Mudblood should.”

 

“That attitude is why you’re still a virgin,” I snapped back.

 

Anger flashed over his face and I prepared myself for Crucio, when the Manor shook to its foundations. Worry replaced anger and I decided to sow fear in his heart. “It’s started,” I said.

 

“I’m not afraid of Potter,” he said, though his eyes tell me he’s lying.

 

“It’s not Harry,” I said. “It’s somebody worse.” There’s truth in my words, I realize...Its Ron. .

 

The Manor shakes again and shouts and screams tell us there’s a battle going on downstairs, yet I feel strangely calm and safe.

 

“If he’s coming for you,” he said. “Then he’s walking into an ambush.” With foul cunning he positioned himself so as to attack anyone using the door, but Ron didn’t use the door- Ron blew in the wall, a chunk of brick and masonry pinning the young Death Eater to the floor.

I gasped as Ron stepped onto it, the air around him was crackling with magical energy, an aura of orange surrounded him lighting up the room. It seemed as if he were sucking up all the magic in the world. He saw the Death Eater first, he flicked his wrist and the horrid little boy disappeared, the piece of wall settled onto the floor.

 

“Accio wand,” Ron’s voice filled the air, sending vibrations through me. It seemed to shake the house. The fragments of my wand flew into his hand.

 

Ron looked at me and smiled. His eyes were like suns; not a hint of their normal blue remained. Magic seemed to erupt from his mouth with each breath; I couldn’t even see his teeth.

 

I never understood the hushed tones when people spoke about Voldemort or about Dumbledore’s great deeds. I could never reconcile the Wizards I saw in my everyday life, with the work of Mages, both dark and light.

 

The little boy I had grown up with, the exasperating young man of unfulfilled potential was gone. The man before me was a mage at the height of his powers and I felt scared and insignificant.

 

“’Mione.” The word shuddered through me, the room itself seemed to buffet as if Ron were the eye of a terrible storm. Deep down inside I felt a small conceit. He’d come for me.

 

“’Mione,” he said again holding out my wand, whole and unbroken. The ropes had untied themselves, I found myself free. I scrambled back against the wall. I didn’t want Ron to see me like this, ragged and stinking, soiled. I couldn’t bear it. “Stay back,” I said.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It’s me, Ron.” With each word he spoke, I felt something in the pit of my stomach, something I had felt before but never acknowledged, always squashed. I wanted Ron. I wanted the funny, brave, kind hearted guy who had been by my side for six years. I wanted this demi-god before me. I needed him, almost as much as breathing.

 

“Please, Ron,” I pleaded. “I stink. Stay away.”

 

“Accio Hermione.” The magic wrenched me from the wall, into his arms. “I don’t care,” he said. “I love you.”

*

“I love you.” The words ran in Hermione’s ears as Ron began massaging her shoulders. “Are you nearly finished, Luv?” He leant over her shoulder reading the words she had written. “You were a bit smelly.”

“Ronald!”

They both chuckled quietly so as not to wake the child.

“You were so angry you almost killed yourself creating that blasted feather.”

“I was sick and tired of playing the victim. I wanted to make an example, make a statement.”

 

“Don’t mess with Ron Weasley.”

“Yeah! Or his girl.”

“Big Bad Mage Weasley.”

“You love it.”

“Yes, I do.” Hermione stood and turned putting her arms around Ron’s neck.

“’Mione,” he said with aching possessiveness.

“Say it again, with meaning.”

“’Mione,” he growled.

“That’s right, I’m yours.”

“Nox.”

Fin.

***

Authors note:

These things never turn out as you originally envision them. This is the chapter where Ron kicks ass (and gets the girl).


End file.
